


Nostalgia

by blue_jack



Series: Nostalgia [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Bondage, Bottom Steve Rogers, Breath Control Play, Dom!Tony, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, Fucking Machines, I want to stress the dubious consent here, Kinky stuff will get a little less mild as we go on, M/M, Mechanical tentacle sex, Mild Med Kink, Misunderstandings, Nipple Play, Not Safe/Sane/Consensual because of emotional factors, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Predicament Bondage, Punishment, Rimming, Safeword Use, Safewords, Slooooooooooooow Build, Slow Build, They are not making good decisions, Top Tony Stark, Under-negotiated Kink, just so you know, mention of watersports, mild pain play, stress position, sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 94,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck my life.  Why me?" Tony asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long I've been gone! This past summer was crazy, what with moving and writing nearly 47K for my cap_ironman big bang. I'll be posting that later this month, but this was the beginning of the other fic I started for big bang but then discarded, because I thought my first idea would be shorter. FML. 
> 
> Anyway, I have no idea if I'll continue it, so anyone who hates WIPs for exactly this reason, feel free to back away now. I completely understand.
> 
> I might write more though, depending on response. >_> *cough, cough* If I do continue, the warnings and rating will definitely go up, so.
> 
> Also, this is a loose definition of "forced bonding" but whatever, for the "forced bonding" square of my avengers_tables card.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

"Fuck my life. Why me?" Tony asked.

“I would think that would be obvious. Your father was instrumental in creating him after all,” Fury said, watching him, although if he was expecting Tony to give something away, then he was going to be disappointed. Tony had plenty of practice not reacting when anyone mentioned his dad.

Of course, most of the time, people were commenting on how similar they were, or how completely dissimilar, or how Howard would be so disappointed, or proud, or impressed, or whatever else they could come up with to use against Tony. Bringing up Captain America was a new one though, he had to admit. 

But then, Captain America had been buried in ice for the past seventy years, so.

And it wasn’t like it was common knowledge that he was back, otherwise Tony would’ve been getting all sorts of questions from the press, because yes, Tony was a Stark, but Steve Rogers had been Howard’s favored son.

It was that fact that Fury was counting on when he dangled Captain America like bait in front of him, even though he knew Tony liked his privacy and disliked attachments and had never accepted a long-term Sub. Howard Stark had spent years and millions of dollars searching for Captain America, attention and energy that he hadn’t ever focused in the same way on Tony, and Fury had to be thinking that there was no way he was going to walk away from that, from having the man his father had preferred over Tony down on his knees in front of him. 

And if it happened to kill two birds with one stone, all the better. SHIELD had been trying to get their hooks into him for years—weapons designer extraordinaire (even if he’d said he’d left that behind him, there was always the possibility that they could convince him otherwise), technology genius, owner and operator of the one and only Iron Man—and if he accepted responsibility for Captain America, they’d have it. SHIELD had found the guy after all, and he was still technically in the Army, government property in other words, and there’d be check-ins and check-ups, and no Dom worth his salt would let his Sub go into those alone without at least being in the next room. They’d have Tony by the balls, and Fury knew it, the bastard. Assuming he agreed. Which, Tony totally wasn’t planning to do. No way. Nuh uh.

“Two, you’re aware of the history, and while you’re impulsive and arrogant and all too frequently a pain in my ass—”

“Wow, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“—you can keep a secret. Three, you’re currently unbonded, and Rogers is going to need someone to help him through the adjustment period. Four—” 

“That’s all well and good for you, but what’s in it for me?” he asked, like the answer wasn’t obvious. He’d watched the reels. No one could watch Captain America in action and not go a little gaga for him. Even without all the shared (but not really) history they had, Captain America was a prize all on his own. 

“Besides helping your country and taking care of a hero who’s sacrificed—” 

“Philanthropic, yes, but no one’s ever accused me of being compassionate, Fury. I give hundreds of millions of dollars every year to charities, including ones to support veterans coming back from war, and furthermore, guilt trips have never been known to work with me. Give me a reason I can get behind, because all I’m thinking about right now is how it’s a drain on my resources and time during one of the busiest months of the year for Stark Industries, how he and I haven’t even met and might not be compatible, how it sounds like a glorified baby-sitting job, and really? I think there are a lot of people out there who’d be better suited to this than me.”

Fury stared at him thoughtfully with his one good eye for a long time before nodding and saying, “Alright. Come with me.”

\-----

The first thought Tony had when he saw Captain America was that he wanted to climb him like a tree. The second was that it was a good thing Captain America’s ass wasn't any rounder, because otherwise, Tony would've had to get down on his knees and bite it. The third was that he was so fucking screwed.

“Captain Rogers,” Fury said as the entered the workout room, and Captain America glanced at them, not stopping his magnificent display of flexing and twisting muscles as he pounded a hanging bag until he noticed Fury had brought along company. Tony might have complained about the whole stopping thing, except then he was privileged to witness a sweating Captain America whose chest was heaving and whose nipples were straining against the thin, tight shirt he had on, and yeah, okay, he could deal with that. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Sir,” Captain America said to Fury. After a pause, he added, “Sir,” in Tony’s direction.

Tony’s eyebrows lifted slightly. People had a tendency to mistype Tony. He was on the short side of average, which didn’t mean anything since height had no bearing on being a Dom or a Sub, but Hollywood had messed people up enough that they assumed under six foot tall meant Sub. Also, he was sarcastic, but in a cheeky way rather than a domineering way, so once again, Sub. (If he had a dollar for every time a Dom had said they’d planned to beat the disrespect out of him, he’d be a . . . well, let’s just say he’d be even richer than he already was.) And he was talkative. And loud. And he smiled a lot. And was kind of handsy without even realizing it. And he pouted when he didn’t get his way. And he liked to wear stylish clothes when he was out. And got his hair and nails done and went in for massages. And maybe if it’d been just one or two things, it would’ve been fine, but when added up all together?

For the most part, he didn’t mind, because it never hurt to have people misjudge him, and he liked switching it up from time to time anyway, so it’d led to some rather . . . vigorous encounters that he still thought back on with a smile. And of course, he hadn’t minded proving his orientation to a few specific people afterwards, in a rather more private setting where they could make it up to him, but whatever. That was beside the point.

Tony liked getting his ego stroked just as much as the next guy, and if he had to be labeled, it was nice to be labeled the right way. But that hadn’t been what had gotten him to raise his eyebrows. It’d been the _way_ Captain America had said the “sir” that had done it, grudging and unimpressed, and damn it, Tony had always had a thing for the mean ones. Pepper claimed it was because he had a masochistic streak a mile wide, but whatever. He was proud of his kinks. They made him the man he was. 

“Captain Steve Rogers, I’d like you to meet Tony Stark. Tony is Howard Stark’s son.”

Steve’s mouth tightened—no, Captain America, Captain America, damn it. Steve was someone he’d consider taking home, but Captain America was an icon, a very non-geriatric icon even though he was like a gazillion years old and had pecs a man could bounce quarters off of, and shit, he was seriously considering this, wasn’t he?

Captain America’s mouth tightened, but all he said was an unenthusiastic, “Hello,” and damn it, why couldn’t he be perky? Tony could deal with perky.

“Hi,” Tony said, and if he were half as smart as he thought he was, he’d be running right now. 

“Tony is going to be your new Dom for a while,” Fury said, and oh no he didn’t. Tony hadn’t agreed to anything, and he wasn’t going to be known as the guy who’d been in breach of contract with _Captain fucking America_ , and he was going to— “Assuming the two of you are compatible, of course,” Fury added, throwing Tony’s own words in his face, and he’d never liked Fury. Not even once.

“I’ve already told you I don’t want a Dom. Nothing personal, Mr. Stark,” Captain America said _as he rejected him right to his face._ Not that he was insulted or anything.

“I never claimed to be in the market for a Sub either.”

“Well, then,” Captain America said, sounding surprised, and Tony couldn’t blame him, because if he’d come across Steve Rogers in a club somewhere, he would’ve snatched him up so fast, there would’ve only been a _whooshing_ sound to mark that he’d been there at all. Although from all the stories he’d heard, Captain America was supposed to be extremely self-effacing, so maybe he wasn’t thinking Tony was passing up all that and a bag of chips, maybe he was surprised Tony wasn’t looking for a Sub, but whatever, because seriously? Hot. 

“Unfortunately, as I’ve already explained to you, Captain, military regulations require that Subs who have seen combat or experienced traumatic situations _must_ have a full-time Dom in residence for at least six months if they want to live off-base.”

“And I told you that I can live on—”

“In _your_ case, because of your specific set of circumstances, you can’t even _leave_ the base without accompaniment, and is that what you really want? To have to request in writing a chaperone every time you want to leave? Not to mention the fact that you’d have to apply days in advance so we could put it on someone’s schedule, in addition to the very real possibility that you could be turned down due to lack of availability or because someone decides your request isn’t important enough to permit.”

 _O_ -kay. This wasn’t really what Tony had signed on for. It was one thing to talk about taking on a new Sub—which wasn’t he’d signed on for either. Fury had just requested a meeting about one of his dad’s old projects, and he’d stupidly agreed—another thing entirely to watch someone being taken apart right in front of him, and maybe he should go—

“How is that any different than having a Dom?” Captain America asked bitterly, and woah, what?

“Excuse me,” Tony said, butting in even though he knew he shouldn’t, because it wasn’t like that had ever stopped him before. “I couldn’t help but eavesdrop, what with standing right here and everything, but you did not seriously just say that having a Dom was the same as being in lockdown in the military.”

“What would you know?” Captain America asked, turning towards him. “Have you ever been in the military, Mr. Stark?”

“No, but—”

“And have you ever been a Sub?”

“Not exactly, but I—”

“Then you don’t know what it’s like—”

“Look,” Tony said, reaching out to put a calming hand on Captain America’s arm, “I don’t know what Dom/Sub dynamics were like back then, or your past relationships, but nowadays—”

Captain America jerked his arm away. “You don’t know anything about me, Mr. Stark, and truthfully, I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

Tony raised his hands and took a step back. “I was just trying to—”

“Why are you even here? From everything I’ve read about you in the file Nick gave me, you and I don’t have a lot in common, and those are just the highlights. That’s when they were trying to make this seem like a bonding I’d actually want.” 

A file, huh? Well, that explained how he’d known Tony was a Dom at least. 

The sneer on Captain America’s face seemed to get bigger and bigger the more he talked. “Making money by creating weapons designed for mass murder and being lucky enough to have a father who could pass along his genius don’t make you _special_ , newfangled suit or not, so why don’t you just turn around and leave, because I don’t need your _help_ , and I don’t want it either.”

“Don’t want?” Tony asked, and he could feel the mocking grin settling on his face, as comfortably as any mask he’d worn. 

Growing up, people had said all kinds of things to Tony, to his face and behind his back, and he’d learned how to handle the insults, the lies, even the truth most of the time. But that was when it was from people who didn’t matter, people he didn’t look up to, and maybe he didn’t know Steve Rogers, but Captain America? He didn’t think there was a person alive who knew more about him than Tony did. 

And all the stories he’d heard from his dad, all the clips where Captain America had smiled bashfully or stared stoically off into the horizon, all the comics where he’d single-handedly fought forty Nazis and won, they’d all painted the same picture about a hero and a champion of justice and an all-around good guy who helped little ladies cross the street and who would’ve smiled at Tony and been proud of him for all the things he’d accomplished for the sake of his father and himself and the whole damn world. 

Tony kind of hated Steve Rogers in that moment for taking that all away from him, one of the last hold-overs from a childhood that hadn’t been much of one at all. 

“You obviously don’t want, but don’t need? SHIELD’s trying to farm you out to a _civilian_ , and sure, I’m not any Joe Schmoe off the street, but you have to be quite the problem child if they’re so eager to get rid of you.”

He saw the way _Steve’s_ eyes flickered over to Fury—Steve, because as far as Tony was concerned, he’d lost the respect that came with the title—but Tony wasn’t going to let Fury to step in, not when he had the advantage and was dying to use it. 

“I’m not the first Dom they’ve brought in, am I?” he asked, and he knew he was right from the way Steve’s face went carefully blank. “I’m not the only one they’ve shopped you around to. And maybe you managed to scare off the rest of them—uppity Sub you might be, but you’re still _Captain America_ after all—but I don’t scare that easily, _Boy_ , especially not by the likes of you,” he said, and he was staring right into furious blue eyes from inches away, and he didn’t even remember when that had happened. “Or maybe after spending five minutes in your charming company, they just didn’t want _you_ —”

“That’s enough!” Fury barked, a day late and a dollar short, because there was a lost look in Steve’s eyes, just for a second, but it was there, and damn it. Tony hadn’t even started it; he simply had a habit of ending things. There was no reason for him to feel guilty.

“Well, this was fun,” Tony said a long, long, awkward moment, deciding that it was way past time to skedaddle. He slid his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. “But look at the time; I’ve got people to do, things to see—”

“You want to be part of the Avengers Initiative, Stark, you’ll take Captain Rogers with you.”

“Nick—”

“At ease, Soldier!” Fury said, and Steve sort of rocked back, his mouth settling into a mulish line. Even with the mixed feelings, Tony enjoyed the sight a little more than he probably should have, but what the hell. He was only human.

He tilted his head down so he could look at Fury over the sunglasses. “You didn’t want me to be part of the Avengers.”

“I know.”

“You said I was reckless and narcissistic and—”

“I know what I said.”

“Besides, I don’t know that I even want to be part of your secret society anymore. Are there cool handshakes involved? Do I get my own key to the clubhouse—”

“We’ll do a trial period. Three months. Things go well, Captain Rogers stays with you until you mutually agree to end your association. Things don’t go well, he comes back, and you still get a spot on the team.”

Tony glanced over at a fuming Steve. “He doesn’t look too happy about the deal.”

“Cap has gone into worse situations with less intel. He’ll agree,” Fury said with a level of confidence in his voice that could only come from being a Dom in the military talking about a lower-ranked Sub. If Tony had ever tried to tell one of the Subs under his employ that he’d be deciding their intimate life for them, they’d have had the National Association for Submissives’ Rights on him faster than the suit could go from zero to one hundred.

“You’re assuming I’m going to accept your terms.”

“I’m assuming squat. I won’t stop you if you want to walk away.”

“Uh huh.” He finally took his sunglasses off again and nibbled on one of the earpieces as he considered. “What about the contract?”

“That’s between you and Captain Rogers.”

“Sure, but I’m not going to spend three months being miserable just because ole Cap here decides he’s going to make my life hell.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve said, looking self-righteous and offended, and Tony supposed he should be feeling grateful that whatever his feelings about the matter, Steve was willing to try to make it bearable at least, but what he was actually thinking was, seriously? Was there anything that _didn’t_ set the guy off?

“So you’re saying you don’t even like me, but you’re willing to let me stick my—”

Fury made a noise, and Tony reevaluated what he’d been planning to say.

“—stick my collar around your neck?”

Apparently, it didn’t fool Steve, because he blushed, red spreading across his face in a steady wave, and Tony had to give it to him: embarrassed or not, Steve didn’t back down. 

“I’ll do what I have to.”

Which was great, just great. Tony loved feeling like some sort of chore to get done as quickly as possible. Steve could say he wanted to gouge out his own eyes with a rusty spoon and manage to convey the same amount of enthusiasm. 

“For God and country, eh? Lie back and think of America? Wow, I can’t wait. Can I take you home right now?” 

Fury sighed, rubbing his forehead, but it totally wasn’t Tony’s fault. When he subbed, he could take or leave the sex, preferred to leave it most of the time, and surprise, surprise, there wasn’t a shortage of men and women who were willing to smack him around a little bit without a promise of orgasm afterward. When he dommed though . . . what could he say? It got the blood flowing.

But he’d never taken an unwilling Sub, or one whose kinks didn’t line up with his, because it was all too easy to do something you’d regret the next day when you were in the middle of a scene, and he didn’t want to be that kind of memory for anyone. He much preferred to be the type of memory that someone brought out in the middle of masturbating, thank you very much, the one that made people blush and squeeze their thighs together because of the pulse of arousal they got from the recollection. He didn’t think it was asking too much to be considered a sex god was all.

“As I was saying earlier, I don’t know how you’ve handled things with your previous Doms, but when I—”

“There haven’t been,” Steve interrupted, and if Tony had thought he’d been stiff before, it was nothing to the way he was holding himself then.

“What?”

“There haven’t been. Any other Doms,” Steve said, like the words were being dragged out of his mouth.

“ _What_?” Tony asked again, because had Steve _seen_ himself?

“There was a war going on!” Steve said, defensive and disapproving. “I’m sorry if my first priority wasn’t—”

“But you’ve had sex, right? I mean, a war, sure, I get that. And I know times were different back then. But every guy goes through puberty—”

He broke off when Steve’s face flushed even harder, which, man, he hadn’t known a person could turn that shade of magenta. 

Pepper always told him he had the sensitivity of a gnat, but even Tony could tell from the way Steve was practically vibrating with the effort to stay in place that he really wanted no part of the conversation they were having. Tony could sympathize. It wasn’t like he wanted to share sex secrets with _Fury_ of all people, although he could take some small solace in the knowledge that Fury couldn’t be having any fun being there either. But since Fury was acting as their Negotiator, it was his job to stay in the room in order to make sure neither party felt threatened or coerced. Although how that worked when Fury was technically higher in the chain of command than Steve and was trying to sell him off like some kind of mail-order bride, Tony had no idea. SHIELD wasn’t technically under the purview of the Army, however, so maybe there wasn’t a conflict of interest, or maybe it was the fact that it was Captain fucking America, and if anyone could stand up for himself, it’d be the guy who punched Hitler in the face over two hundred times. Who knew really?

What Tony did know was that out of all of them, he was probably having the easiest time with the whole awkward discussion having been in the public eye his whole life, so he was used to having people know all sorts of crazy, supposedly private things about him. And when push came to shove, he could walk away, because he didn’t need to waste his time getting a recalcitrant Sub to bend knee when he could snap his fingers and have a willing one licking his boots in about ten seconds flat. 

Steve, on the other hand, only a small group of people had known who he really was, and he had grown up in a time before the Internet, before people could find out your life story with the click of the mouse, so this had to be excruciating for him. To make matters a zillion times worse, no guy wanted to admit how little (zero, zilch, nil, nada) experience he had. And then the fact that Fury was offering Tony a place on the Avengers made him think he was their last resort. That they didn’t have another Dom lined up after him. It was Tony or nothing for Steve, and hell, if Tony had been in Steve’s position, he’d be demanding a pen to sign on the dotted line—Tony was quite the catch after all—but instead, Steve was just standing there, looking miserable and almost defeated, and fuck it. 

Three months? Tony had avoided calls from one-night stands for longer. He could do three months. It wasn’t like they were getting married after all, and exclusivity didn’t have to be part of the contract . . . although shit, Captain America. They’d probably make Tony keep it in his pants if he weren’t keeping it in . . . wow, okay, distracting thought.

But whatever. It was probably better in the long run not to have sex with Steve. Virgins were a huge pain in the ass, dropping feelings left and right, and there’d be enough damn expectations being his first Dom—his first Dom, what the ever-loving fuck—because even if Tony didn’t _do_ anything, there were still some formalities every couple went through. 

So three months. Yeah, he could do that. And not for a place on the Avengers. He could care less about that, although the expression on Fury’s face when he told him so might be worth the hassle all by itself. And he wasn’t going to do it for Steve Rogers, because Steve was a sanctimonious prick, whose pretty face and gorgeous body and tight buns of steel—okay, okay, maybe a little bit for Steve Rogers. Primarily though, he was doing it for Captain America, because no matter what Tony thought about him now that he’d met him, no one deserved to be locked up and told when they could eat and sleep and go out—at least, not without them agreeing to it beforehand—least of all someone who’d gotten his ass kicked by war, and been left frozen for seventy years, and whose friends and family were all dead and buried, and who Tony had once admired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written chapter 2! It's much shorter than chapter 1, but still, progress!
> 
> Does anyone even care anymore? *listens to crickets chirp*
> 
> Thanks to MetaAllu for the encouragement!

“Welcome to your new home,” Tony said, throwing open the doors to his penthouse and spreading his arms to show off all the glory. And his pad was nice, too.

He turned back around in time to catch the flicker of misery on Steve’s face before it was wiped off, and well, shit. The car ride over had been bad enough with neither of them talking or even looking at each other, but Steve Rogers made a remarkably pathetic figure standing outside Tony’s door with only a duffel bag to his name, and Tony couldn’t help but feel a spike of pity. The last thing the guy needed to be reminded of was that his “home” wasn’t one he wanted and that the only reason he had it was on Tony’s sufferance. Pepper was right. He had the sensitivity of a gnat. 

Not that Steve deserved sensitivity when he was basically an asshole incarnate, but fine, Tony had always wanted to say he’d acted like the better man, and now he could.

“The bedrooms are down that hall. Feel free to redecorate your room, although I warn you that Pepper picked out a lot of the art on the walls, and she can be nasty when you don't agree with her choices. Just tell me what you want, though, and I’ll get it for you. Or rather JAR—”

“Which one is mine?” Steve asked, still standing in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he was going to come in. Tony hated to break it to him, but Steve had already signed the contract, so vacillating at this point was too little, too late.

“Uh, whichever one you’d like,” Tony said, because it wasn’t like he’d been _expecting_ to come home with a Sub that day, so sue him for not being prepared. 

If this had been real—if he’d asked Steve to sign his contract and Steve had agreed—things would have been different. They would’ve just gotten back from celebrating with their friends and would barely have been able to keep their hands off each other. He’d have brought Steve home and taken him to his bedroom, _their_ bedroom, and shown him where he could unpack his things, where Tony had purposefully made space in his life that Steve had chosen to fill. Tony probably would’ve fucked him up against the wall or down on the floor because they couldn’t make it to the bed, and Steve would’ve submitted so beautifully to him, on his knees and grateful because of it. They would’ve spent the rest of the night in a flurry of friction burns, the floor littered with spilled bottles of lube to make things easier and half-empty tubes of salve for when they invariably got hard, and Tony would’ve kissed every inch of him afterwards, worshipping him with his tongue the way he’d worshipped him with his cock minutes before.

It wasn’t real, however, and so instead, they just had . . . this.

“C’mon in,” he said gruffly. “Unless you’re planning to stand there all day?”

“What if I am?” Steve asked, and Tony’s eyes narrowed at the tone which crept along the edge of belligerence. It demanded a reaction.

All he did, however, was say, “Then I imagine you’re going to be very, very bored. I thought that was what you were trying to avoid in the first place—”

“I wasn’t—” Steve’s jaw clenched, and Tony could see his finger tightening around the strap of his bag. “Maybe to someone like _you_ , boredom would seem like the worst thing imaginable. That’s the reason behind all the Subs and the cars and the parties, isn’t it, to keep yourself _entertained_? The most important thing to _me_ , however, is to help people; to be able to do my _job_ without having to wait for some _Dom_ to tell me what to do or how to do it. Maybe you don’t understand that, or maybe you _can’t_ understand—”

Steve broke off, turning away so he could glare out the window.

So.

The thing was, Tony got it. He really did. It was a fucked up situation for the both of them, and Steve was exerting his independence in whatever way he could. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move to pull on a new Dom, particularly since Steve had no way of knowing how he’d react, but then again, if Steve riled him up enough to make Tony lash out, well, that’d prove that Tony was a major fucking dick, just like everyone else, worse even, and at least Steve would know. 

Truth be told, it was what Tony would’ve done if their situations had been reversed. There was something extremely satisfying in testing to see how far a person could be pushed, not to mention the fact that even forcing a punishment was a type of control, which Steve had absolutely none of right now. 

It was different, though, being the one to dish it out versus being the one it was being dished out to, especially when Captain America was the one saying it. 

Deep breaths. _Deep_ breaths. He didn’t need Steve’s approval. He didn’t even want it.

“In or out,” Tony said, his voice clipped, using the dregs of his self-restraint to keep from responding to Steve the way he wanted to. “Make up your mind.”

“You say that like I’ve got a choice.”

“Of course you get a choice! You can do whatever the hell you want—”

“Until you tell me I can’t,” Steve said, an expression of petty triumph on his face as he looked at Tony, and that was it; he was done. He was so fucking done.

A lot of responses popped into his head, from “I told you, things are different now” to “You damn well better believe it” to even “I’d have to give a fuck about what you do in order to tell you to stop” but he didn’t say any of them.

Instead he said, “You know what? The penthouse isn’t even that big. I’m sure you can find your own way around,” before leaving, being extra careful to ensure that their bodies didn’t touch on the way out.

\-----

Tony knew that there were a lot of Doms who preferred mouthy Subs, got off on the whole, "oh, you've been such a bad Sub" thing to use as an excuse to bring out the whips. He, however, had enough sass for a whole stable of Subs, and he didn’t need a reason to take a Sub over his knee, so the Subs he kept company with tended to be discreet. Refined. Obedient.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Pepper demanded, managing to smack him on the arm even as he was trying to dodge away.

“Are you _insane_?” Happy asked, looking ready to hold him still so Pepper could beat on him further. 

Okay, okay, so he’d lied. It was a sickness, what could he say?

“Now, Pepper,” he began and had to flinch at the look she gave him. Pepper was actually a Switch rather than a straight out Sub, and while she’d enjoyed submitting to him most of the time when they’d been together, he’d always suspected she would’ve liked having him over her knee a lot more frequently than he’d actually bent over during their relationship. Her current expression made him even more certain.

“You _bought_ Captain _America_?” she asked, and in hindsight, this was one of those instances where jumping to the punch line hadn’t been in his best interests after all.

“I didn’t _buy_ him—”

“Just so you could join the Avengers—” 

“That’s what Fury _offered_ ; that’s not why I accepted!” he said, insulted that she’d think so little of him, even if he had been the one to imply that had been what happened. 

He explained the whole situation, from the request for a meeting to the bait-and-switch, and finally said, “It’s _Captain America_. What else was I supposed to do, let Fury pawn him off on some other Dom who’d probably keep him chained to the bed all the time?”

Although chaining Steve to the bed would be completely understandable for any Dom, because _yowza_. That man could do sexy like no one’s business.

Not that Tony would ever get to do more than appreciate how aesthetically pleasing he was, even if Steve had agreed to pretty much any kind of sex Tony had wanted—his eyes staring flatly at the wall as Nick had listed option after option and Steve had replied with a monotone “yes” time and time again until he’d sounded like a bad porn track. Tony really wasn’t a big aficionado of duty-driven sex, however, no matter how pretty he thought Steve would look spread-eagled on his bed, eyelashes wet and clumped together from sexual frustration, a cock ring keeping him ready for however Tony wanted to use him.

Alright, so maybe Tony had been thinking about it a little more than he should, but whatever, he was only human. Tony still wasn’t going to touch him, because like one of those fancy cakes served at formal parties or a wedding, Steve might look amazing and mouth-wateringly delicious on the outside, but on the inside, he was dry and bitter and deceiving, and whoever had put the combination together was a jackass. 

“And what exactly are _you_ going to do with him?” Pepper demanded with Happy scowling at Tony behind her shoulder. 

“I don’t know,” he said crossly, because the question implied he should’ve given everything a level of thought and consideration that totally hadn’t happened. “I’ll think of something.”

Why were they both rolling their eyes at him?

“This wasn’t exactly in my calendar, you know. Go for a morning run, hack into Reed Richards’ mainframe for the hell of it, meeting with Fury . . . nope, nope, I don’t recall ‘get a Sub’ anywhere in there, so excuse me if I need some time to plan out my next step.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive yourself this morning,” Happy said, shaking his head. “This is what happens when I leave you alone.”

“You are not someone I’d call ‘a good influence,’ Happy. The last time we went out together, you—” 

“Tony,” Pepper said, and Tony knew she was going to bring the conversation back around to Steve, even though he’d much prefer to reminisce about his and Happy’s exploits. Or anything else really. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who knows about your tendency to make spur-of-the-moment decisions better than I do, but this is another man’s _life_ we’re talking about—”

“What other choice did I have, Pepper?” he asked, throwing his hands up in the air. “No matter what anyone says, I didn’t _actually_ lose my heart in Afghanistan, and I wasn’t going to let them—”

“No one’s arguing with you that you made the right decision, Tony!” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “ _Of course_ you had to bring him home. Of course you did.” 

“Where is he anyway?” Happy said, looking around as if he was expecting Steve to pop out from behind DUM-E. “Oh crap, don’t tell me we’ve been talking about Captain America while he’s been sleeping on your dinky cot—”

“Relax, he’s upstairs. _What_?” he said, when they both stared at him. “He wanted to be left alone!” Or at the very least, he hadn’t wanted to be with Tony. “I left him alone! How is this a bad thing?”

“Tony, you can’t leave a Sub— _your_ Sub—alone in a new place!” Happy said, and Tony couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the disapproving expression on his face. He hated feeling guilty. 

“Look, it was either that or do something I’d regret—”

“You mean like throwing him into a completely new situation that he didn’t want in the first place and then abandoning him the first chance you get?”

“It’s not like that!”

“Then what _is_ it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re—”

“ _Happy_ ,” Tony snapped, anger filling his voice at the way he was being treated, because maybe he wasn’t the knight in shining armor in this story, but he sure as hell wasn’t the villain either.

“Tony,” Pepper said, squeezing his arm. “ _Tony_. Like you said, it’s _Captain_ _America_. You’re the one who showed us all the news reels and comics, and we all love—” She glanced at his face. “We all _loved_ him as much as you did. It’s a lot to take in all at once—”

“How do you think _I_ feel?”

“How do you think _he_ feels, Tony?” she said, and that shut him up momentarily.

“I didn’t even _want_ to contract with him,” he said at last, and if he came off as defensive, it was because that was how he felt.

“But you did. And there are responsibilities that come with being a good Dom.”

“You think I don’t know that? I am a _great_ Dom,” he said, stung by the suggestion that he was failing, especially from her, because out of anyone, she would know the best—

“You are,” she said, sighing. “You are a _wonderful_ Dom, Tony. _When you want to be_.”

He stared at her mutely.

“Just . . . just think about it, okay? He’s not one of those one-hit wonders you’ve been seeing lately, and he deserves more. He deserves better.” She hugged him, squeezing tightly. “We’re going to go. You’ve got more important things to do right now than talk to us.” 

The “and you _will_ do them” was left unspoken. 

“Please keep in mind that he didn’t ask for this either, alright?” she said, and he nodded, because there wasn’t any way Steve would let him forget.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the extremely short (half or even a third of a) chapter. It would’ve been longer, but this is my last chance to remind you guys about the auction happening on tumblr to raise money for AO3. You can find my page [here](http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/bluejack) (the list of all the authors offering a fic is [here](http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/authorlist)). There have already been several incredibly generous bids, but there’s still time to bid more! :D Seriously though, the auction ends tomorrow (the 24th) at 11:59pm GMT, so this is it. If you’d like to win a fic from me—I’ll write either a new fic or expand on a drabble or promise to write Nostalgia only until it’s finished (and not like wander back into the ST fandom which I know is going to happen, ugh, Bones) or whatever—please bid. <3
> 
> ETA: Oops, I mean 11:59pm GMT on the 25th (Thursday).

Steve waited until he was certain Stark—the name didn’t belong to Howard anymore and wouldn’t ever again—wasn’t coming back before he let himself walk into the apartment, his legs unsteady now that there was no one to prove himself to, his back hunched with the weight of memories and might-have-beens and too many deaths to carry.

He slid his bag off his shoulder onto the floor before sitting wearily on the couch. It wasn’t as if there were anything breakable inside, mostly just clothes SHIELD had given him, all new with the creases still visible and made from fabrics that didn’t need to be rationed for war. 

He supposed that he should find a room and unpack. It was what Stark undoubtedly expected of him; he seemed the type that would want to find Steve neatly tucked away, available for when he wanted to pull him out for his own amusement but not disrupting his life otherwise.

Well, that was too bad then, wasn’t it? 

Steve settled against the back of the couch, letting his shoes rest on top of the pristine coffee table as he glanced from the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a horizon he didn’t recognize, to the screen on the wall that was bigger than the bed he used to sleep in, to the fireplace and chandelier and all the decorations and little touches that reeked of wealth and excess. 

It didn’t look like any kind of home Steve had ever been in. No matter what Stark said. 

As if it Stark saying the word meant it were actually true. As if Steve could forget closing his eyes right before he died and then opening them to a sense of _wrongness_ and thinking _please, no, let me not have failed_. As if losing everyone he had known and loved was something he needed to _get over_ —

He stared down at his hands, his fingers curling into fists.

Almost everyone anyway. Everyone but Peggy.

He remembered seeing her on the first day of training, watching her put Hodge in his place, because some Subs wouldn’t—couldn’t—respect a person until they’d been forced to their knees. For all that Hodge had been part of his squad and as a result, someone Steve would’ve given his life for, Steve hadn’t exactly liked him. He’d met his type too many times before—been beaten up by them too many times before—Subs that were bullies at heart and more interested in ensuring their place at the top of the pecking order than they were in their fellow man. 

He knew a lot of Doms didn’t give credence to it, but Subs were just as interested in the social hierarchy as they were, more so since a Sub’s life and lifestyle was so dependent on their Dom. Some of them would take any excuse to put down any potential competition, even someone like him that no Dom would glance twice at since he was too sickly to be worth the effort. 

Hodge had been the kind of Sub who’d gone into the army thinking of personal glory and finding a higher-ranked Dom who’d take care of him.

Steve had just wanted to serve. 

Which was why it’d been such a relief to see Peggy take Hodge down so matter-of-factly, no teasing, no games of dominance. It’d demonstrated to all of them that slips in discipline would be punished, but that was it. They were either going to do better or they were going to get kicked out, because boot camp wasn’t a military-themed seeker party; it was where they learned how to fight for their country and survive. 

He hadn’t fallen in love with her then, but it’d been a short ride down from there, each encounter solidifying the image in his head of the two of them after the war, him on his knees beside her, her collar around his neck.

He’d thought she’d felt the same way. 

When Nick had told him about the rule for Subs who’d been in combat, Steve had turned down the first five potential Doms. It wasn’t something that had been in place in his day. People had still be _fighting_ the war, and there hadn’t been many—Doms _or_ Subs—that had come back yet. 

It hadn’t been until Nick had shown him the studies and the statistics that Steve had reluctantly agreed that maybe it was necessary. Even then, however, it’d been something for other Subs, not for him, and he’d fought against it, rejecting ten more Doms in the meantime. The war he’d been in had been over a long time ago—even if it’d just been a matter of months for him—and he didn’t need anyone looking after him, especially someone who could barely understand what he’d experienced. 

Not to mention the fact that he’d only been awake for four months. How could they expect him to turn over his life to someone he’d met a few days prior, someone he didn’t know and didn’t trust? It was bad enough SHIELD had kept the reintegration process as slow as possible. How much worse would it be when a single person was supposed to be in charge of him?

Everything had changed, however, when he’d found out about Peggy. She was still alive. She didn’t have a Sub. 

For a brief moment, it’d been almost everything he’d wanted, and without even seeing her, Steve had yes.

Peggy, however, had said no.

Nick had been so angry at the army-assigned Negotiator when he’d found out Steve had been told about Peggy before they’d even gotten her consent. Nick had kicked him out and taken over the position personally, but by then, it had already been too late.

Steve had always valued the truth, but he hadn’t wanted to know she didn’t love him anymore. 

And now, instead of being with her, he was with Stark. Another link to his past, but one he hadn’t wanted. 

Had Howard been this wealthy? There’d been too much going on for Steve to ever have the chance to do more than talk to him in passing, and truth be told, he’d avoided him for a while when he’d thought Howard and Peggy were together. He’d known that Howard was exceptionally intelligent and liked to crack jokes and was confident around women, but they hadn’t ever discussed his life outside the war, and then, of course, it’d been too late. 

Stark had apparently inherited many of the same traits, but for some reason, all the things that Steve had found admirable in the father, he now disliked in the son. Not that it mattered what he liked or didn’t like. Nick had basically ordered him to accept Stark’s contract, and so he had. It wasn’t as if it mattered anymore who he went with.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony took a deep breath and promised himself that he wouldn’t let Steve rile him up.

Okay, maybe “promise” was too strong a word. It was more like a guideline. A suggestion really.

He _definitely_ wasn’t going to go storm off again, no matter what happened.

Probably.

He sighed and rubbed his jaw, staring at the closed elevator doors.

“JARVIS, where’s Steve right now?”

“Captain Rogers is in the living room, Sir.”

“Oh great,” he muttered, knowing there was no way he was going to avoid him. Not that he’d been planning to avoid him, of course. But it would’ve been nice to have the option.

“Send me the feed,” he said, pulling out his phone. He intended to just take a quick peek and gauge Steve’s mood before braving the lion’s den. He didn’t expect to catch him sitting on the couch, however, staring out at nothing, defeat etched in every line of his body.

“What the—”

Where had the defiance gone? The anger? The fight? Captain America didn’t give up, didn’t know _how_ to give up. No matter what life threw at him, he always came back swinging and won. Captain America was larger than life, a symbol of everything Americans should be. He didn’t . . .

He zoomed in on Steve’s face, not even meaning to, the move automatic as his phone tracked his eye movements and enlarged anything he focused on for more than a few seconds. It was a long time before he could look away.

Tony hadn’t thought he’d had any more childhood illusions of his one-time hero for Steve to shatter. Apparently he’d been wrong, and he couldn’t even hate him for it this time, pity piercing him like a knife and leaving just as gaping a wound in his defenses.

 _How do you think_ he _feels?_

Like his whole life had been turned upside down. Like he’d been cast off. Like he didn’t have a safe place anymore, or even a place he could call his own. Tony could tell all too easily the thoughts that had to be going through Steve’s head.

Steve didn’t know about JARVIS, had interrupted Tony before he could announce his presence. Steve wouldn’t realize there were cameras in every room, although Tony only ever accessed the public ones. Steve had believed in the privacy that Tony’s departure had offered, and Tony felt guilt writhe through him that he had somehow broken a trust that wasn’t even there.

He slipped his phone back in his pocket as if to hide his crime, but it wasn’t so easy to wipe away the image of Steve’s expression from his mind.

Happy had been right to be angry with him. 

Not that Steve didn’t deserved some of the blame, because he totally did. 

But whatever the circumstances that had led them there, Tony had accepted responsibility for Steve, and it was time he faced up to that fact. Steve was his now. And the vague plans he’d had of pretty much ignoring him and letting him do what he wanted until their contract was over were no longer feasible. He didn’t know what he _was_ going to do with him, not yet anyway, but he’d figure it out. Somehow.

Because no matter how much he’d thought he didn’t like the guy, he couldn’t stand to see the despair on Steve’s face. 

\-----

Tony walked into the penthouse a few minutes later, purposefully not looking directly at Steve in order to give him time to collect himself and said, “You know, when I said you could pick whatever room you wanted, I didn’t actually mean the living room, but I like it. Everyone should aim big.” 

Tony turned around in a circle, framing the space with his hands.

“We’ll have to replace the couches with a bed, and I hope you’re a heavy sleeper, because I am in and out of here at all times of the night, but I—”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Steve asked, probably going for antagonistic but just coming off as tired.

“I like to approach each day with a smile on my face and a song in my heart,” he said lightly. “But who says I’m kidding? I’d give you this room if you wanted it.”

“I don’t,” Steve said, and Tony could hear the way he was trying to dredge up the anger from before. He finally looked over at him to see that Steve was standing now instead of hunched in on himself on the couch, shoulders squared back as he geared himself up for battle, and Tony acknowledged the relief that no matter how many cracks Steve had, he wasn’t quite broken. 

“No? Well, that’s probably for the best anyway. Pepper would’ve killed me if I told her we needed to redesign the layout of the floor. Again,” Tony said, keeping himself from asking what it was that Steve _did_ want. It was typically one of the first things he ever did when he was with a new Sub, but there was no point, not yet anyway, not when Steve had already made it clear he didn’t trust him and had no reason to confide in him.

“You’ll meet her sometime here in the next couple of days, once you’ve had a chance to settle in a little bit, her and Happy both. Please don’t comment on Happy’s obvious hero worship. He thinks he’s subtle, and we like to humor him.”

Steve didn’t respond, but Tony could see the way the idea gave him pause, that Tony had told anyone about him. Before Steve could become bitter that Tony had been bragging about his latest conquest—and if there was one thing he was sure about Steve right now, it was that Steve was ready to twist his words until they were in the worst possible light—Tony said, “You and I will have to figure out what we want to make public, of course, but Pepper and Happy are like family to me, closer than, like my right and left hands. There was no way I could keep the information from them.”

When Steve tensed, he hurried on to say, “We don’t have to say you’re my Sub—it might even be better if we don’t, since I know your identity is still a secret, and it’ll be incredibly fishy for Tony Stark to get a new Sub and then for Iron Man to suddenly start showing up places with Captain America. You could always be my new assistant maybe, but we can figure out the details later. SHIELD and I still have to work on setting up a fake past for you—”

“You’re going to take me out with you?” Steve asked, suspicion and surprise warring in his voice. “As Captain America?” 

“You said you wanted to do your job. I was assuming you meant kicking evil-doers’ ass and not like working part-time at Starbucks or something.”

“I said I wanted to do it without a Dom looking over my shoulder—”

“I have always been a firm believer that asking for forgiveness is a lot easier than getting permission, however, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that Fury will take you away from me in a flat second if I send you off on your own. I don’t have a lot of rules, but you don’t put on the uniform without me; that is non-negotiable,” he told him and marvelled at the realization that of the two of them, he was being counted on to be the sensible one. What the ever-loving-fuck.

Steve was quiet for a while, bridling at the thought of Tony’s rules, no doubt, but when he spoke, all he said was, “But you _will_ take me with you.”

“Within a month, I think, yes.” He held up his hand to keep Steve’s outburst at bay. “I’m used to going out on my own, and as my file no doubt told you, I don’t play well with others. It’s as much for my benefit as it is for yours. We’ll train together. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Steve still looked skeptical, not that Tony could blame him, but he hadn’t accused him of lying outright or yelled at him, and that was encouraging. Maybe this could work after all. All he had to do was keep throwing one surprise after another at Steve, and the man could be almost civil.

“In return for what exactly?”

Annnnnnd he’d spoken too soon.

“What do you mean?” he asked, because he was pretty sure he knew by the tone of Steve’s voice what he was insinuating, but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—actually no, he just wanted to give him enough rope to hang himself.

“What do you expect me to do in order to _earn_ the privilege of being taken with you?” Steve asked, his lips curling in a sneer, and even though Tony had expected it, he couldn’t help stiffening at the implied insult.

For someone who had never had a Dom before, Steve had a lot of opinions about the way they acted. Or maybe it was just Tony. Maybe he just really, really, _really_ didn’t like Tony, in which case, Steve was in for a _long_ three months, which gave Tony a perverse twinge of joy.

It didn’t matter though in the end. First, because Pepper was a hell of a lot scarier than Steve, and he wasn’t going to back to her and admit he’d taken off again without discussing anything; second, Tony had already made up his mind to do this as right as he possibly could—with or without Steve’s cooperation—and come hell or high water, that was what he was going to do.

“Ah, you’re asking about the rules,” he said, knowing that Steve wasn’t but refusing to give him the satisfaction of being the one to give voice to what he was really referring to. He smiled, although it was more a baring of teeth. 

“This will be a somewhat fluid list until we get to know each other better, but here are the basics. We’ve already discussed one of them, so rule number two is you don’t embarass me in public.” 

If things had gone better between them, he wouldn’t have added that one, but considering the situation, he felt it had to be said.

“Whatever story we concoct, you’re going to be around me a lot, and I need to know I don’t have to worry about you in front of other people. Notice I don’t say the same thing for when it’s just the two of us or when Happy and Pepper are around. I wouldn’t want to have to explain to the government how you suffered a nervous collapse from all the strain.” 

Steve glared at the verbal jab, but he didn’t bother denying the necessity of being able to abuse Tony in private. Asshole.

“Number three is around meals. We eat together, or at the very least, we’re in the same room during meal times.”

Never let it be said that Tony Stark hadn’t suffered for a cause. This rule inconvenienced him the most on a day-to-day basis, but he needed to monitor that Steve was eating well, and furthermore, sharing meals was a way to bring people closer together. Even if they’d prefer to be apart.

“Number four: starting tomorrow, we train at least one hour every day.”

The sooner he and SHIELD felt Steve was ready for action, the better. 

“Number five: communication. _Tell me_ when you want to go out, when you need something, or want me to do something for you—and I doubt you’ll have a problem with this part—or when something isn’t working for you. I’m not psychic, and I have a tendency to get caught up in my own projects, so if you don’t say something, I won’t know. Speaking of which, I doubt Fury told you about groups like the National Association for Submissives’ Rights, but if you feel you’re being mistreated, you get in touch with these guys,” he said, and it was like throwing down a gauntlet.

“What? Who are they?”

“You can ask JARVIS. JARVIS!”

“Yes, Sir?”

He felt a mean delight at seeing Steve startle.

“JARVIS is my AI. He’s a computer—he’s actually much more than a computer—but for your purposes, you can think of him as a computer. If you need something when I’m not around, you can ask him. Say hello to Steve, JARVIS.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers.”

“Um, hello?” Steve said hesitantly.

“Okay, enough of that; talk to JARVIS later. Finally, rule number six.”

He actually hadn’t intended to instate rule six for a few more weeks since he’d been hoping to establish more of a relationship with Steve first, but fuck that. After Steve’s reaction to his offer to give him some freedom, he could have rule six if he wanted to.

“Every day, you tell me one thing you want. Can be big, can be small, but it has to be something. For today,” Tony said, letting his exhaustion roll over him now that the conversation had been gotten out of the way, and hell, how was the day not over yet, “unless you already have something else in mind, you can tell me what you want to eat for lunch. I’m starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Oh crap, I forgot to say many, many, many thanks to MetaAllu for the encouragement! <333 You rock, bb. :)
> 
> I apologize that we’re almost 10K in and there’s not even a hint of porn yet. No one is sadder about this than I am.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I’ll be honest and say that I’m still on the fence about finishing this story. After not writing for almost two months, it was really hard getting back into the swing of things. I kind of thought I was done writing fanfiction altogether, but I started really missing it, so we’ll see. I’ll admit that the more kudos and comments I get, the more I want to write, but I have no idea if any of you are still following this since it’s been like 10 months since I first started it—ugh, I am so sorry—so do with that what you will. I won’t blame any of you for having lost interest.
> 
> That being said, I can’t seem to write intermediate-length stories anymore. It’s either really short or really, really long, and since we’ve already passed the really short stage, I think this is going to be a long-ass motherfucker, fml.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve shifted on the bed, the sheets gliding like water over his exposed skin, and he grimaced, his shoulders clenching reflexively. They were just too . . . too white, too long, too soft. Everything in Stark’s home was _too much_ , and it reminded him constantly of how things had changed.

He’d gone from living in an orphanage to living in a boarding house to living in the barracks, and comfort had never been the highest priority in any of those places. He’d slept on twin beds with thin mattresses and had counted himself lucky if he’d had a blanket thick enough to keep out most of the chill; had waited for his turn to use the bathroom and kept track of the passing minutes as he stood under the lukewarm or cool water; had eaten food that had the consistency of mush or jerky during some of the harder times of his life and been grateful for it; and that had been fine, that had been expected, but here . . .

It wasn’t that he wished Stark had seen more hardship during his life, but Steve had no idea what to do with all of this abundance.

He sighed, opening his eyes, and even though the windows were shaded, the lights from the buildings outside provided enough illumination to see the outlines of “his” furniture. 

Stark had five guest bedrooms, and Steve had finally chosen one that was neither too far nor too close to the master suite in a mix of rebellion (he wouldn’t let Stark think he was hiding from him and whatever he had in store for Steve) and bull-headedness (but he wouldn’t be at his beck and call, sidling up close like he was anxious to be used) that he wouldn’t have been able to explain if Stark had asked. Not that he had. 

His one room was bigger than the entire apartment SHIELD had provided him, and that had contained a bathroom, living room and kitchen as well. While he no longer had a kitchen, he had a closet that he could potentially get lost in, a large sitting area, two televisions, and a bathroom that had a shower, a huge tub and an incredible, dizzying view of the city. _Every_ bedroom had the same, and if it turned out that this stretch of horizon didn’t work for him, he just had to choose one that did. 

Who _needed_ a place that big? He could fit another bedroom—two even, three—inside his, and still have room left over, and there were four more guest rooms and Stark’s room besides. What was the _point_ of so much space?

It was so large. And quiet. Empty. At least at SHIELD there had been people around in the other apartments. He hadn’t ever interacted with any of them, still reeling from everything that had happened, but he couldn’t deny that it’d been comforting to hear the occasional murmur in the background.

Here, though, he only had the sound of his own breathing to keep him company, and he found himself breathing louder in order to give himself something worth listening _to_. 

He was almost tempted to open the door and take Stark up on the offer he’d made after dinner to watch a movie—the images so crisp and clear, it seemed that he could reach out and touch the bark of a tree or the fabric of a person’s sleeve—or go to his gym downstairs, where Stark apparently not only had a full-sized boxing ring but an indoor pool as well. 

Although the pool might have been on the roof; he vaguely remembered Stark mentioning a glass ceiling so he could look at the sky while he was swimming laps. He hadn’t been paying attention, too jittery, wanting to work off some steam but not knowing how to when everything looked so clean and untouched. He could just imagine Stark’s gym being the same, the leather polished, the weights shining, and he couldn’t picture himself breaking punching bag after punching bag, the sand spilling like blood over the floor. He’d given Stark a stilted goodnight soon after and retreated to his room.

He twisted around, trying to relax, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

It wasn’t that he’d thought Stark would be a horrible Dom. A bad one, yes, definitely, he hadn’t doubted that for a minute. Not cruel—although Steve hadn’t ruled out the possibility, even if there hadn’t been hints of it in his file—but someone who’d provide the basic necessities and otherwise ignore him, too caught up in his own life to think about an unwanted Sub. 

He hadn’t expected him to be . . . “kind” wasn’t the right word. Stark wasn’t a kind person. His jokes all seemed to be slightly barbed, and he didn’t try to ease Steve’s discomfort so much as smother it, and he ignored—no, he _stomped all over_ Steve’s rudeness whenever it reared up. Stark was . . . he was persistent. Determined. And it appeared that he had set his sights on taking care of Steve.

He rolled and stared up at the ceiling.

Why though? Did he want to be part of the Avengers’ Initiative that much? Steve could understand him taking Nick up on the deal in order to secure his place, but Nick had already given him an out. Stark could’ve locked Steve in his room for the next three months and still be guaranteed a position on the team. Instead, other than the hour or so he’d been gone in the morning after their argument—which a small part of Steve was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable about—Stark had been almost glued to his side all day.

They’d had lunch, and then Stark had given him a tour of the floor and gently bullied him into choosing a bedroom by verbally redecorating every room they walked into in order to suit Steve’s supposed tastes—including, but not limited to, tearing down walls and adding target dummies in case Steve wanted to practice throwing his shield around.

He’d left him alone then in order to unpack and freshen up, but he’d been back soon enough.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t make them,” Stark had said, holding a plateful of chocolate chip cookies between them. As if Steve had even considered for a moment that he would’ve cooked. “JARVIS makes the meanest batch of cookies this side of the Mississippi. I wouldn’t trust him with a knife—precision laser-cutting is more his style—but if you’ve got a recipe that calls for measuring cups and a beater, he’s your man. Well, AI really. Computer.”

Some twitch of Steve’s face had Stark saying, “Wait, you disappeared in what, 1945? Which was after Colossus was developed but before ENIAC was finished, and oh fuck, tell me you’ve at least heard of something more advanced than Babbage’s difference engine?” 

The look of horror on his face had almost surprised Steve into a smile. 

That had lead to Stark yelling at JARVIS that they had an emergency and using floating images to explain what a computer was. At length. He’d then bragged about how much better JARVIS was than anything else out there and had demanded Steve take him for a spin and go wild, although not Girls-Gone-Wild-wild, because Fury would kill him. 

Steve hadn’t had the faintest clue what he meant, but it hadn’t been important. He hadn’t said anything to contradict Stark, but he _did_ know what a computer was. Vaguely. Nick had just begun allowing him to use one under the watchful eye of a SHIELD-issued Dom, and while he thought of them as more a glorified typewriter/calculator, he’d definitely seen the appeal of the Internet. 

At SHIELD, it’d been incredibly frustrating to encounter website after website that was blocked to his access as he attempted to understand more about the world he was now a part of. That didn’t seem to be an issue at Stark’s, although Steve had apparently traded that greater freedom for even more supervision. 

Stark had warned him, “In the interest of full disclosure, JARVIS will know each and every website you go to and every keystroke you make. You see that camera?” he’d said, pointing to what might have been a tiny dot on the wall. “It’s recording us right now, and just like there are cameras in every room, JARVIS has eyes that see every piece of information that comes and goes into this building.”

It had been said so casually that it’d taken Steve a second to realize that meant he was under constant surveillance, and by then, Stark had already continued. “That being said, however, I have no intention of asking him to show that information to me, just like I would never watch any of the camera feeds from your or any guest’s bedroom. Unless there were an emergency or an assassination attempt or someone brought home a hot pair of twins.” He’d waggled his eyebrows. “In which case all bets are off. You can believe that or not, but if you want privacy, I can have Happy take you to an internet cafe where you can be all anonymous and secretive, although, once again, JARVIS could hack their servers anyway, which means absolutely nothing to you but just accept that Big Brother is watching and say screw it.”

Stark had paused. “Fuck, do you even understand the literary reference I just made? Whatever, look it up. Or not. Look up whatever you want. Or ask JARVIS. Quite truthfully, it’s faster than typing everything out, and he’ll always give you a truthful answer, even if it’s just, ‘I am not at liberty to answer your question,’ and he has a smooth, melodious voice, so there’s that.”

It hadn’t dismissed the anger, but Stark’s rambling had given Steve time to contain it. At least until after his time on the computer was up, because he hadn’t wanted to lose his chance to learn about modern life by blowing up at Stark and having it rescinded, especially since Stark hadn’t _forbidden_ him anything. The only thing he’d insisted Steve do was research Submissives’ rights. Even then, once Steve had a few web pages up, Stark had simply grunted and then wandered away rather than ensuring Steve had read any of it. Which he had, of course, but still. 

By the time he had finally gotten up—and only then because Stark had told him it was time for dinner and he’d already made it clear there was no getting out of meals—Steve had been calm about the whole matter.

He hated the idea that he was always being observed, but if he were honest with himself, it was barely different than the way the Army or SHIELD had treated him after the Super Serum and then being virtually resurrected. There had always been people around, watching and assessing, and if Stark wanted to look at him in his bedroom, well, Steve remembered giving him permission to do so in their contract. He’d agreed to voyeurism and exhibitionism and a long list of things he didn’t know the definitions of, and it hadn’t mattered when he’d been standing there, numb and feeling betrayed. Steve told himself that it still didn’t.

It was another reason to hate it there, however, although he reluctantly had to give Stark credit for revealing the cameras to him. Since Steve had already given written permission that he could be watched, it’d only been Stark’s sense of decency that had led to the admission. He wondered if all of Stark’s guests were told or only the ones that were going to live with him for any period of time. He was also curious as to why Stark had them at all—but then, Stark had already had attempts on his life. Steve remembered reading about his time in Afghanistan and then near-death at the hands of his business partner, and that had been before he came out as Iron Man and made himself a target. Maybe for Stark, the cameras were a necessary evil.

He sighed and pushed himself, climbing out of the bed and making his way to his bathroom. He turned on the light and squinted until his eyes had adjusted.

Even the rules he had laid down hadn’t been unreasonable, even if Steve didn’t like them. He hadn’t demanded Steve walk three steps behind him, or be silent unless spoken to directly, or even to kneel at his feet in public, something Steve had seen plenty of Subs do in his day. He hadn’t even discussed punishment, and Steve didn’t know if that was because he honestly thought he wouldn’t disobey or because of some other reason, but it made Steve want to respect the trust given him and follow Stark’s rules; simultaneously, it also made him want to break each and every one of them, because who was Stark to assume that Steve would bow down to his law?

The latter was spiteful of him, he knew, especially considering how little Stark had actually done to earn that reaction. That could change at any second, of course, and Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Stark _did_ start ignoring him once the novelty had passed. Nonetheless, if Steve were being fair—something he recognized he didn’t want to be, which only made it even more important that he do it—until he did, Stark’s courtesy meant he, in turn, needed to try harder. He wouldn’t kneel down, but he could be polite, could try to make the next three months bearable, could stop accusing Stark of every possible abuse under the sun just because he wasn’t the Dom Steve had wanted. 

Stark wasn’t Peggy. And Steve had to stop blaming him for that fact.

Stark hadn’t even demanded his company in his bed, and that Steve had expected—had _known_ —would be required of him. It was, after all, the only thing Stark would be getting out of the deal until the end of the three months, and Stark seemed the type to believe in immediate gratification.

It was a relief that he hadn’t, of course. It wasn’t as if Steve had _wanted_ Stark to—to . . .

He hadn’t. The thought of his first time being with someone who had no interest in his submission as anything other than his due was abhorrent, even if he’d already given his consent. He was grateful Stark had kept his distance. 

So why did he feel so rejected? 

Steve stared at his reflection, at the face that stared back at him, no longer gaunt and lined from sickness. Even after the Super Serum, nobody wanted him.

And he knew that it was a terrible thought, that in the morning, he’d be angry with himself for even having considered it.

But it felt real.

He closed the door, wondering for a second if there were cameras in the bathroom as well and then dismissing the worry. What did it matter?

He stood over the toilet and pushed down his clothes, taking himself in hand. Although there were many benefits to his new body, there were disadvantages as well—not that he’d considered it one until after he’d woken up in a new century, alone and adrift. 

He’d hoped to avoid doing it tonight, but he’d been a slave to his body’s demands his whole life, and that hadn’t changed even after the serum.

He kept his eyes open the whole time, gritting his teeth when orgasm finally hit, and he watched the evidence of his loneliness flush away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the hugs to MetaAllu for the comments and encouragement. You’re the best, bb.
> 
> And many thanks to all the people who’ve left kudos and comments. It means so much to me. Thank you.
> 
> \-----
> 
> The Colossus was the first electric programmable computer and was first demonstrated in December 1943. The Colossus was created to help the British code breakers read encrypted German messages.
> 
> The ENIAC is regarded by many as the first digital computer, and it was completed in 1946.
> 
> (source: http://www.computerhope.com/issues/ch000984.htm)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look guys, only two months since the last update! Amazing.
> 
> >_>
> 
> Thank you to MetaAllu who was so hopeful in getting this chapter to make sense and for all the cheerleading. *snuggles forever*

Steve hadn’t realized how much he missed training with someone else. Which was odd when he thought about it, because he didn’t actually have that much practice doing it. 

He leaned back, Stark’s fist just missing his cheek.

Really, there’d only ever been a handful of occasions that’d he’d gone up against someone without either of them getting beaten black and blue. The first few times had been with Bucky when he’d tried to teach Steve to defend himself because he’d refused to let Bucky fight his fight battles for him. The last had been during Boot Camp when everyone had been expected to learn how engage in one-on-one combat. 

After the Serum, he’d been too busy to train with anyone, first undergoing test after test to see what he could do, and then later, touring the United States to generate money for the war effort. Even after he’d teamed up with Bucky and the Howling Commandos, he’d been getting so much real-life experience that sparring had become unnecessary. 

Maybe if he’d stayed at SHIELD longer, he would’ve eventually approached one of the men or women there, although he doubted it. Before Stark had arrived, he’d always preferred to be by himself, needing the solitude to get his thoughts together, and it was unlikely that Nick would’ve let him engage with anyone while he was still unattached. 

He blocked Stark’s next strike, and the next, and the next after that, the two of them shuffling across the floor as they each tried to find an opening. He eventually managed to catch Stark’s hand, twisting it and shoving it against Stark’s other arm so it was pinned to his chest, consequently leaving his side vulnerable. Steve landed a quick tap before Stark could get free. Stark nodded in recognition of the hit.

When he’d woken up that morning, it’d been to a feeling of confusion. Why was the sun coming in from the wrong side of the room? Why did his sheets smell and feel different? The answers had come rushing in immediately after, all of the anger and impotence he’d struggled to deal with—that he was _still_ struggling to deal with—swamping him again.

Gradually, however, as he’d paced his room and first one hour had gone by and then another with no sight of Stark, he’d come to a few conclusions. Yes, nothing was as it should be, and yes, he’d been given to someone he didn’t even know, but three months—which had seemed like an eternity when it’d been dark and he’d been trying to adjust to everything that had happened—was really no time at all. He hated the idea of it, but he could put up with anything for six months even, and Stark hadn’t wanted him anymore than Steve had wanted Stark. Maybe he could use that to his own advantage. 

He already knew that he couldn’t get around the law, but Stark might be willing to be his Dom in name only, especially if Steve could prove to him and Nick that he didn’t _need_ a Dom. That he was fine. That he was adjusting. 

So even though he hadn’t wanted to spar with Stark either, he’d done it, had decided he could put up with that and more for the possibility of real freedom. And if he thought about Stark’s insistence that they train together before going into the field as common sense instead of one of his rules, then it made it that much more bearable.

He tagged Stark’s chin, his ear, his stomach, and his chest before Stark’s mouth started to thin, his punches coming in a little harder, a little faster.

What made it even better was that Stark was surprisingly good at this. Steve still had to be careful, but it was obvious that Stark knew how to fight, his moves a mixture of boxing and some other technique that depended on quick strikes from the centerline of the body. If Steve had thought about it, he would’ve assumed that with all of his wealth and intelligence, Stark would’ve relied on other people or his technology to protect him, but he was glad that he would’ve been wrong. Steve didn’t _want_ a Dom, but if he had to have one temporarily, then it was good that it was someone who could take care of himself. 

Truthfully, so far, Stark hadn’t been acting too much _like_ a Dom, more like someone who’d had an unwanted guest drop in on him out of the blue and felt obligated to keep a close eye on him as a result. And when Steve thought about it like that, that he was a guest in Stark’s home and of course expected to adhere to the wishes of his host, then it almost felt like he could breathe again.

They were going fast enough that Steve didn’t consciously think about sweeping Stark’s legs out from underneath him. Stark had left himself wide open, and his body took the opening before his mind could catch up.

He didn’t know who was more surprised, Stark or him, and he found himself staring for a second before he thought to ask, “Are you al—” 

“I’m good,” Stark said, getting up quickly. He rolled his neck and squared his shoulders. “Keep it coming.”

\-----

Training with Steve had been one of the worst ideas of his entire life, Tony decided as he lay on the ground, his body one big aching mass.

“Are we finished for the day?” Steve asked after some indeterminate length of time, his voice carefully even, as if Tony couldn’t _feel_ the waves of smugness radiating off him.

“Why,” Tony said, finding the energy somehow to wipe at the bit of drool at the corner of his mouth, “giving up so soon?”

He groaned as he forced himself up to his knees and then to his feet, even though all he really wanted to do was to get his cuddle on with the floor mats and never leave them again.

He noticed Steve twitch out of the corner of his eye, and Tony could just imagine him waffling on whether or not to offer his help, because it was Tony after all, but still, _good sportsmanship_ , and yup, there it was, Steve’s hand in his face. It was gone a second later at Tony’s look, and Steve took a few obliging steps back in order to give him space, his hands up in the air.

It wasn’t that he’d expected to _beat_ Captain America or anything. He wasn’t stupid after all—Super Serum, _hello_ —and he’d been ogling Steve’s body enough to notice the muscles once or twice. (He didn’t even mean to, but one second he’d be glancing at something on his phone, and the next, he’d look up and bam! There would be a thigh. Or a bicep. Or Steve’s chest. Tony thought he could write _odes_ to Steve’s chest. The other half—well, the other half, okay, Tony _did_ mean to, but Steve was really pretty, okay? And Tony liked looking at pretty things.)

So yeah, he hadn’t expected to beat Steve. But like, give him a small challenge? Maybe get a hit or two in? Show that he could handle himself? Was that asking too much?

Apparently so.

It was like he could _hear_ all those years of martial arts training get up and walk out the door in shame.

And to add insult to injury—seriously, he was going to have so many bruises tomorrow—Steve made it all look ridiculously easy. Like there was something wrong with _Tony_ because he couldn’t do a backflip into a triple-somersault double-layout what-the-hell-ever incredibly painful looking split thing, and then come bouncing back and two seconds later and have him down on the ground. 

And the _strength_. Tony had seen the news reels. He’d seen _all_ the news reels and clips of Captain America, had watched the man lift a motorcycle with one arm, but it was one thing to admire a guy’s ability to bench press a truck, totally another to have him block a strike and make _Tony’s_ hand hurt in the process while Steve acted like he’d barely even noticed they’d made contact.

Tony could admit that there was a tiny, spiteful part of him that wanted to climb in the suit, blast Steve with a few dozen rockets and yell, “Ha! How do you like me now?”

It didn’t make him a _bad_ person, he thought, just . . . an overly competitive one.

Unfortunately, according to the clock on the wall, they’d only been in the gym for about thirty minutes, ten of which had been warming-up and another five, taping their hands, and he’d be damned if he gave up and suggested they switch to weight-lifting or the treadmill without sparring for at least a little longer. 

Five more minutes. He wasn’t a sometimes-masochist for nothing. He could suffer for five more minutes.

He revised that estimate about a minute later when Steve had him in a classic Schoolboy pin straight out of the glory days of professional wrestling.

“You know, I normally have to sign a contract before someone will do this to me,” Tony wheezed, and immediately regretted the words when Steve froze. Well crap. He really should pay more attention when Pepper lectured about the necessity of a brain-to-mouth filter. He’d forgotten for a second there that sexual jokes were a no-no, what with the whole newly acquired, reluctant Sub thing. 

“What did you . . . ?” Steve began, raising up and letting Tony’s legs fall to the ground, and no matter how awkward the situation, the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Aha!” Tony said, twisting and shoving in order to take advantage of Steve’s momentary lapse in attention and his unbalanced position. 

“Damn you and your tree trunk thighs,” Tony muttered a few seconds later when it didn’t work, said thighs almost framing his face, and seriously, how had he forgotten how homoerotic wrestling was? 

Oh well, at least his frustration from before had disappeared. Funny that.

\-----

It wasn’t as if Steve hadn’t known Stark liked to switch upon occasion. It’d been there in his file, laid out alongside everything else. 

It was different, however, to hear it from Stark himself; to realize that even if he were joking, Stark could envision the two of them pressed together for an entirely different reason.

What was more surprising was the image that followed on the coattails of that thought. For a brief moment, he could see it himself, and he panicked, scrambling to erase the image, but only succeeded in altering it enough so he was no longer in the picture. It was just Stark beneath some faceless stranger.

But that was somehow even more disturbing, and without conscious thought, everything changed once again until Stark was above _him_ this time, looking down as if from some great height.

He flinched, wiping the image from his head, and he desperately hoped that he’d managed to control his expression enough that Stark hadn’t noticed. Except then Stark kind of let his body become limp as he stared up at him challengingly, and he knew that Stark had seen after all. 

“What’s the matter?” Stark said, his smile carrying a sharp edge. “Was it something I said?”

“No,” Steve said, his voice low, and he had to look away, even though it wasn’t a lie. Stark hadn’t said anything wrong; it wasn’t his fault the way Steve was reacting to it.

He just wished he knew _why_ he was reacting, why he was thinking about it all, because he’d never—

“Is it that I like getting smacked around sometimes?”

“I didn’t—”

“It’s not that often,” Stark said, and he wasn’t even trying to pretend to smile anymore.

He tried to get up but stopped when Stark grabbed his wrist, blunt fingers keeping him trapped in place, the touch too hot against his skin. And suddenly it made sense. Of _course_ he was having strange thoughts when Stark had touched him more in the past thirty or so minutes than he’d been touched in months. Even with the Serum, he was only a man in the end, prone to the same failings, and he was lonely. He’d been lonely for a long time. And as a result, he’d let things go too far. They were training after all, and if touch wasn’t permitted here, then where was it? He shouldn’t have started grappling with Stark, though, should’ve stuck to throwing punches, even if the brushes of Stark hands and arms and legs had been like comfort almost, even if all Steve had wanted was to feel a little more contact for just a little bit longer. 

“I’d say if I had to break it up into percentages, it’d be eighty/twenty maybe, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on the mood. It doesn’t make me less of a Dom.”

“I didn’t say it did,” Steve said, and he swallowed, trying to clear his throat, trying to stop staring at Stark’s fingers around his wrist.

Why was Stark still talking about it? Why couldn’t he let it go? 

Steve tugged at Stark’s hold, but even though it was loose enough that he should’ve been able to shake Stark off without trouble, he still couldn’t seem to get free. 

“Neither does lying here on the ground with you pinning me down, because you’re stronger than I am. I don’t stop being who I am when I choose to submit to someone else, because that’s what my submission is: a choice,” he said, tightening his grip enough that Steve finally had to look up into his eyes. “You being able to force me to the ground doesn’t mean that I submit, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean—”

“I _know_ that,” Steve said, even though he was barely paying attention to what Stark was saying. He just wanted to get away, and maybe Stark realized that, because he jerked his wrist forward, and Steve found himself falling forward until he was on all fours above him, the pull on his wrist like an undertow, dragging him further and further away from the safety of the shore. 

“Look at me,” Stark commanded, and Steve didn’t know what else to do but obey.

Stark searched his eyes for a long time, and whatever he saw there made his expression gradually change, confusion replacing the anger, until he finally said, “Okay,” letting go of his wrist. “Okay.”

Steve staggered to his feet.

\-----

“Ow,” Tony whimpered as he tried to soak the pain away in the bath. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Oh, will you stop? It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Said by the person who did _not_ just get her ass handed to her by Captain America for the fourth time in four days.”

He hissed as he finally managed to recline all the way back, his muscles untensing in fits and spurts once they grasped he wasn’t going to move anymore.

“I don’t think there’s a part of me that _doesn’t_ hurt. Even my ears hurt. Even my _toenails_ hurt. Why the hell do my toenails hurt?”

His fingers twitched pathetically in the direction of a washcloth. “Pepper . . .”

“What?”

“Washcloth.”

“Yes, I see that, it’s right there.”

“ _Pepper_.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said flatly.

“C’mon, Pepper,” he said, widening his eyes pitifully. “I feel like I just had back-to-back scenes with three Doms and their pet gimp, and all I want is to have a warm washcloth for my head and the entire contents of that bottle of Advil, is that really too much to ask?”

He closed his eyes just before he got a faceful of washcloth, too sore to dodge out of the way. “I don’t remember your aftercare being this brusque, but time does cloud memory, I suppose,” he said as he gingerly draped the cloth on his forehead.

Other people might have felt weird about having an ex in the bathroom with them, but he could barely remember a time when Pepper hadn’t been in his life, and even if the romantic feelings between them had faded, it still felt completely natural for her to be there.

“How are things going between you two anyway?” she asked, perching on the side of the bathtub.

"Just peachy," he drawled, wincing as he adjusted his shoulders a little. As he’d been doing each time he thought about that first training session, Tony tried to pretend the weird episode hadn’t happened. And just like every time before, he failed miserably.

Tony had never been the archetypical Dom, and he’d had to prove himself frequently throughout the years, to his father, to his peers, to people who had only seen him on the TV but still felt they had some kind of vested interest in his life. He’d thought he was settled enough in his own skin to not be bothered when someone questioned his orientation, but apparently not. 

Maybe he’d just been especially sensitive that day due to how effortlessly Steve had been tossing him around—not that Steve was the typical Sub either—or maybe it’d been because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, Steve was still Captain America, and that meant something to Tony. Whatever the reason, when he’d caught that flash of contempt in Steve’s eyes, he’d instantly gone on the defensive, and he’d been harsher than he would’ve liked. 

He thought that he’d made up for it since, but he still didn’t know what the whole thing had been about. At the end there, Steve had kind of looked like—but that was impossible, that was just Tony letting his anger color the situation. Whatever the cause, Steve hadn’t acted any differently around him since then other than some extra wariness that had disappeared by the next morning, so he couldn’t really complain, especially since that incident aside, they’d been getting along pretty well.

"Can't you tell?" he asked, adding in an extra groan for effect.

“You seemed comfortable enough this morning,” she said. Pepper and Happy had both come by during breakfast for the meet-and-greet, and Steve had been incredibly polite and gentlemanly throughout, completely unlike the first time he’d met Tony. Not that he was bitter or anything.

“We’re getting into a groove,” he said, honestly enough. There was no reason to mention the occasional bumps in the road.

“Good,” she said, and he narrowed his eyes, because she was playing with the edge of her skirt, and the only time Pepper fidgeted was when she knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“Okay, what is it now?”

“What do you—”

“No, no, just lay it on me. I don’t know which is worse: the suspense, or the pain from all this torture—or “exercise” as Steve likes to call it—but one of those at least I can get rid of immediately. Spill it.”

She sighed, folding her hands into her lap. “Alright. Happy and I were talking, and you realize you’re going to have to top Steve, right?”

The washcloth fell into the water with a _plop_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought I’d warn you that I am considering writing a Nostalgia AU (even though I haven’t finished this yet, I know, I know) where society is a little meaner towards Subs and there is a lot of dubcon/“noncon but he likes it” sex. So if you guys see an alert for Nostalgia AU (I’m all about original titles), don’t be surprised, and read the warnings, because it would have amoral!Tony and dive into the hardcore porn much sooner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to MetaAllu who took time off from like a billion essays in order to let me know this was alright. *hugs* I also wanted to thank ricochet for all the awesome reviews and encouragement; you totally inspired me to write this next chapter, thank you.

Tony spent the next ten minutes getting dressed and saying things like, “Are you crazy? You’re so crazy. Why are you so crazy?”

While Pepper replied with, “I’m not crazy. Will you just listen to me for a second?” and once, “You have an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, don’t you?”

“Look,” she said, when they were both dressed and she’d threatened to let DUM-E loose in his lab with the instruction to “throw away anything that looked dangerous” if he didn’t sit still. “I’m not saying it has to happen today. Or this week, or this month even.”

“Or _at all_ ,” he growled, folding his arms across his chest.

“But you’re his first Dom, Tony,” she said, ignoring him, and he’d known that telling her that fact had been a mistake. He wouldn't have if he hadn't been tired and frustrated and feeling cooped up; he couldn’t very well leave Steve in the penthouse to fend for himself, but he wasn’t used to staying indoors for so long unless he was caught up in a fit of genius. So yeah, maybe he’d had a few drinks last night and complained to Pepper about worrying he was going to screw things up, because it’d be so easy to do. But really, it was unfair that she was holding his maudlin thoughts against him.

“Not by choice—”

“Do you really think that matters? _Everyone_ remembers their first,” she said, and he looked away, mouth thinning, wishing he could disagree. “And you know that that experience sets the tone for years to come about what you’re willing to do and how eager you are to do it.”

“I’m going to take care of him—”

“But are you going to do _right_ by him?” she asked, blunt and implacable, and he continued to look out, hating that there was a difference.

“I’m not saying you have to do anything too intense. A little scene here and there can go a long way. It doesn’t even have to be sexual,” she said, although her expression turned slightly dubious; she knew from experience how Tony got during play. “It’s just that from everything you've told me, Tony, the last thing—the very _last thing_ —that Steve needs is to leave here feeling unwanted. And if his first Dom won’t touch him or teach him, then how else is he going to feel?”

“Relieved that I didn’t take advantage of my position?” Tony snapped, surging out of his chair. “Grateful that he can have his first time with someone he _wants_ to have it with? Thankful that I didn’t force—”

“Stop that!” She glared at him, the both of them standing now, neither willing to back down. “I _know_ you, and I know you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want you to do!”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?” he asked, throwing his hands up, feeling like he’d gone from careening through the air, inches from crashing into the ground, only to have the system reboot at the last second. “Because the last thing he wants is me—”

“So _make_ him want you! What, you’ve lost your ability to charm people now?” she asked at his expression, her words laced with challenge. “You’re so used to everyone coming to you that you can’t seduce someone anymore? I’ve seen how much effort you put into one-night stands, Tony, and you don’t even _care_ then. Do you really think I’m going to believe you can’t do this?”

“He doesn’t even _like_ me! SHIELD basically _threw_ him at me, and he’s not going to forget—”

“What do you think is more important? The way something starts, or the way it ends?”

He clenched his jaw, keeping back all the words he wanted to say that wouldn’t accomplish anything, while all the things he _needed_ to say to convince her it wouldn’t work remained just out of reach.

“Pepper,” he said at last, almost pleading with her, but she didn’t relent, and he didn’t know what else to try, already feeling the mantle of responsibility settle on his shoulders, trying to crush him with its weight.

Finally he sat back down, sagging back against the cushions and covering his eyes with his hand. 

“Why don’t you take him?” Tony asked without any expectation in his voice of it actually happening.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, because they both knew how much damage that would do in the current situation, but she said it kindly, recognizing how upset Tony was.

“If it helps at all,” she said, sitting down as well and touching his knee, “I don’t think Steve hates you as much as you think he does.”

He snorted but eventually dropped his hand, squeezing hers to let her know they were okay.

“No, really,” she insisted when he didn’t say anything. “You didn’t notice, but this morning at breakfast, he looked at you when Happy started fawning all over him and another time just as we were leaving.”

“That’s great, Pepper. Steve looks at me. Amazing. Sometimes, it’s even without malice in his eyes, but—”

“He looked at you once for support and once for approval.”

The noise Tony made was even ruder this time around. “I think someone had a little too much champagne in her mimosa.” 

“I don’t think he did it on purpose,” she conceded, “but it’s a start, right? Maybe he doesn’t trust you yet, but you’re becoming familiar enough that he’s beginning to rely on you.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, drawing out each syllable.

“Oh please, Tony. You can’t tell me that you don’t want him.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, because he wasn’t actually made of iron, so of course he’d had thoughts. 

“Then what is?”

He glared at her.

“No, really. I want to know.”

“You already—it’s _Captain America_ , Pepper!”

“ _Exactly_ ,” she said, clasping both her hands around his. “And who better to be his first than someone who already loves him?”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t love _Steve_ yet, but Captain America, you’ve been in love with him for years.”

The worst thing was that he couldn’t even deny it.

She slid from her seat, settling onto her knees, graceful and confident and so lovely that he felt a pang once again that things hadn’t worked out between them. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be in his current situation if they were still together.

“You are a great Dom, Tony,” she said, smiling up at him, offering not her submission but comfort, and he let out a huff of breath, wishing he wasn’t so grateful for it. “It’s going to be okay; you’ll see.”

It was a few minutes before he finally answered, quiet minutes where he let himself bask in her belief, and his smile was almost genuine when he finally said, “Sure.” He stood and drew her up to her feet, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “What can possibly go wrong?”

He reviewed the footage of breakfast after she left, wrestling with his conscience for a brief second before telling JARVIS to bring it up on screen. He’d told Steve he didn’t monitor the bedroom cameras, and he didn’t, but the kitchen and living room were virtually public domain.

Tony watched as earlier-him noticed the two occasions Pepper had mentioned and responded accordingly. 

_“It is such an honor to meet you,” Happy said, shaking Steve’s hand vigorously. “I’ve read all your comics and watched all the news reels. You, sir, are a hero. A genuine American hero. I never thought I’d get the chance to see you, let alone talk to you.”_

_“Thank you,” Steve said, contained but still gracious. “I appreciate—”_

_“I’m Head of Security for Stark Industries, so I know a little of what it’s like to have people depend on you for their safety. Not in the same category as you, of course, but I take my job seriously, and you wouldn’t believe the number of wackos out there.”_

_Steve glanced at Tony quickly when Happy continued to pump his hand. “I’m sure that—”_

_“Tony knows he can count on me though, and it doesn’t hurt that my background is in fighting. Boxing, specifically, although I’m always open to learning new styles. I bet you know a lot of different techniques—”_

_“I think I can hear the timer buzzing for the biscuits,” Tony said, stepping between them until Happy finally had to let go of Steve or risk being dragged along. “Why don’t we head on in?”_

And then later:

_“Thanks for breakfast, Tony,” Pepper said as Happy opened the door. “I have some papers I need you to sign that I forgot to bring this morning, so I’ll drop by later, alright?”_

_“Sounds good,” he said, assuming she wanted to talk about Steve without Steve knowing, because she hadn’t mentioned needing his signature, and Pepper had a mind like a steel trap: she didn’t forget anything._

_“And it was a pleasure meeting you, Steve,” she said, smiling warmly although she didn’t touch him. Happy, as a Sub, could get away with shaking hands. Pepper, however, would never be so rude as to touch another Dom’s Sub without express permission, and Tony hadn’t offered it after seeing how uncomfortable Steve had been. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”_

_“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve said._

_“Yeah, good to meet you,” Happy said, apparently having learned his lesson and staying by the door, out of the reach of temptation._

_“Thank you. You too.”_

_Steve was already turning toward Tony before the door had started to close, and so Tony grinned and said, “That went well. Although I think they both like you better than me.”_

_“What do you mean, ‘think’?” Happy called out._

_“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Hap.”_

Tony hadn’t thought much about either instance at the time. Seeing them from a third-party perspective, however, made him wonder if Pepper was right. And if so, what that meant for them.

He’d thought he’d known what Steve wanted. He’d thought that he would give Steve a safe harbor, somewhere he could catch up on the life that had passed him by while he regained a degree of control that SHIELD would never have allowed him. But was that enough?

Tony had assumed Steve didn’t _want_ to sub, not with him anyway, maybe not with anyone, not for a long time. And two looks didn’t change that, especially not when Tony was the only semi-familiar landmark that Steve had.

But while two looks might be a coincidence, three was a pattern, and there had been that first training session . . . 

Steve had seemed so taken aback by Tony grabbing his wrist. At first, Tony had thought it’d been because Steve had recognized how pointless the action had been when Steve could’ve broken the hold at any time; or maybe it’d been anger that Tony would dare to touch him when they’d stopped sparring; or maybe it’d just been honest surprise that Tony would do it all. But he hadn’t pulled away.

He’d stayed right where Tony had put him until Tony had finally let him go.

And the expression in his eyes when Tony had demanded Steve look at him had held surprise, yes, but something that had resembled panic as well; panic and what had appeared to be a thread of longing. 

But that had been impossible. Not Steve. Not with Tony.

So Tony had convinced himself he’d imagined it, and except for the rest of that day when Steve had been distant and cautious around him, they’d gone back to acting the same way they’d been before, walking slightly out of step while they figured out how to dull the jagged edges between them.

What if he’d been wrong though? What if Steve wanted more? And if so, what was Tony going to do about it?


	8. Chapter 8

Stark had been quiet all day. After hours of dealing with the man grunting or talking in monosyllables instead of running at the mouth like he’d gotten used to, Steve was getting uneasy.

He’d wondered at first if it was Stark’s way of trying to get him to take up the slack in conversation. Steve hadn’t been much of a talker lately, he could admit that; but Stark had never seemed to be bothered before, and it wasn’t as if Steve was doing it on purpose. He just . . . didn’t have much to say. 

Besides, Stark already knew everything he needed to know about Steve. His past was laid out in the file SHIELD had given Stark, reams of paper detailing his health pre- and post-Serum, the experiment itself, his capabilities, and everything that had happened to him during the war. And after as well. Stark probably even had access to the other file as well, the one that covered his mandatory meetings with therapist after therapist, that tossed around terms like “post-traumatic stress disorder” and “survivor’s guilt” like they were nothing. What could Steve possibly tell him that he didn’t already have at his fingertips?

Eventually, he’d decided that if Stark had actually noticed how quiet things were, he probably would've been more bothered by it than Steve was. Stark was the type of person who liked to be surrounded by noise, even if it was just the radio or the television in the background, and he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to inconvenience himself for something so inconsequential as having a chattier dinner companion. 

Steve glanced up from the remnants of his meal and found Stark staring at him; or more accurately _through_ him like he wasn’t even there. He was vaguely surprised by the irritation that crept up on him at the thought.

He shrugged it off and said, “Dinner was good. What was it again?”

He watched Stark focus, coming alive briefly as he registered the question. “Hmm? Oh, pad siew and like three different types of curry. You’ll have to ask JARVIS. He knows what I like,” Stark said, although his plate was still mostly full. He gave Steve a distracted smile before looking out the window. 

He hadn’t realized how much energy Stark brought to the room until it was gone, and he didn’t know what to do with its absence.

Stark let out a huff of air, slapping his hands on his thigh like he’d come to some sort of decision, and stood up. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve watched him go, wondering who he was calling and what it was about; and what it meant for him. 

He glanced at the clock. Just a little past seven. It felt like so much later, but then, the whole day had crawled by, and he thought it was going to pass that much slower waiting for Stark to come back. 

He’d gotten up that morning after a restless night and gone running on the treadmill—one of the most frustrating pieces of machinery he’d ever had the bad luck of encountering. All that running, just to go nowhere. It had seemed all too fitting for the state of his life. He’d swum afterward, back and forth, again and again, before finally taking a shower and heading toward the kitchen to wait for Stark to make an appearance.

But Stark had already been awake and had even made breakfast—bagels, fruit, and yogurt, because he and cooking really didn’t mesh well together. Other than a subdued “good morning,” he hadn’t had much to say to Steve, and at the time, Steve had actually been grateful that Stark wasn’t as verbose as normal.

That had slowly started to change when Stark hadn’t asked him about what he’d researched the day before; or if he had any follow-up questions that he could help him with; or if he wanted suggestions about what Stark thought might be interesting for him to learn about—because how could Steve research something he didn’t even know existed. It was true that Steve had never answered as fully as he could have, but it had never stopped Stark from asking, every day, regular as clockwork. 

Until today.

Inasmuch as Steve had a schedule, he typically spent his mornings with Stark: a late breakfast, and then the two of them talking—or Stark talking at him, and then working out before coming back for another shower and lunch. They’d even gone from spending one hour in the gym together to longer, neither of them keeping track of the time other than Steve counting how frequently Stark would complain that he was either going to be in the best shape of his life or suffer a heart attack from Steve’s exercise regime.

Except Stark hadn’t asked if he wanted to go down today, and when Steve had suggested it, Stark had seemed anything but enthused by the idea.

After the incident in the gym, he’d been worried Stark would want to talk about what happened, but he’d never brought it up and never acted any differently towards him. _Steve_ had been cautious about just how he wrestled with Stark, but Stark had seemed oblivious to the change. 

Not discussing it didn’t mean Steve didn’t think about it, however, because he did. All the time. He didn’t want to, but random bits of memory would pop into his head, the flex of muscle underneath his hand, the sound of Stark panting from exertion, the scent of cologne overlaid with sweat. 

The feel of Stark’s fingers burning into his skin. 

That morning had been the first time Stark hadn’t wanted to spar. He’d run on the treadmill the entire hour instead and left immediately after, and Steve didn’t know what that meant, just knew that it bothered him more and more the longer he thought about it.

Maybe he’d counted himself in the clear too soon. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one thinking about what had happened. At the time, Stark had mistaken his reaction for disgust, and what if he’d kept on assuming that was how Steve felt? How much did Steve really know about him after all? Could he say he knew what was normal for Stark? He’d thought he’d denied whatever accusations Stark had been making, but what if he hadn’t believed him?

Or what if Stark had started thinking about what other possible reasons Steve might have had for reacting the way he did?

Steve got up and started clearing the table. It was a typical Sub duty, and he’d balked at performing it the first day he’d arrived, but Stark had never acted like he expected Steve to do it, had gotten up after lunch and taken his own plate—leaving Steve’s in front of him—like he hadn’t even thought of the possibility that Steve would do it for him now that they were contracted. Steve had been raised to do his part, however, and it’d taken a few meals, but he’d started cleaning up after Stark as well. Stark had provided the meal after all; the least Steve could do was clear the dishes. Stark had been so pleased the first time Steve had done it, beaming at him in delight, far out of proportion to what Steve was doing. But Stark hated cleaning up, even if it just meant taking the plates from the table to the dishwasher, and he’d been thrilled.

It’d even become something of a routine, Stark lingering over his drink and occasionally telling him he’d missed something, grinning unabashedly all the while. 

At least it had been. All the changes in behavior were leading Steve to one conclusion: Stark didn’t want him around anymore.

He just couldn’t understand the reason why. 

Because of the gym? Because of his reaction? And why now? Why was Stark—unless something had happened yesterday to lead up to it. Had Pepper said something to Stark after breakfast? Was that why she’d come back? She’d been incredibly kind to him during breakfast, but maybe that had been an act. What if she didn’t approve of Steve? Stark had said she liked him, but that didn’t make it true.

He frowned at the thought of Stark lying to him, but then again, who was to say that he had? She might have liked him as a person but still had reservations about their contract, and what if she convinced Stark to let him go?

Steve felt the give in the metal of the utensils he was holding and hurriedly straightened them back up.

He hadn’t wanted to come live with Stark, it was true. He hadn’t wanted to, and he hated the necessity and the reason behind it; but he could admit to himself if to no one else that he didn’t want to be sent back either.

He finished cleaning and woke up the computer Stark had given him access to. He’d already spent hours on it that day, but the whole past week, he and Stark had watched movies or played video games together after dinner, and he didn’t feel up to either activity at the moment.

He skimmed the news, keeping one ear open for signs that Stark had finished his calls. He was too preoccupied to concentrate on any particular article for long and checked on the tense state of international affairs more out of habit than with any real purpose. He ended up reading the link to “Stark Industries: Then and Now” twice before he understood it. 

Steve shifted in his chair and looked back towards the hallway one more time before moving the mouse. He let the arrow hover over the link for a few seconds, wondering if he should follow it or not. Stark had never said he couldn’t research him, however, and he’d already read the file SHIELD had given him before they presented Stark, and it was all public information anyway.

He clicked the button.

He’d known that Stark used to manufacture weapons, of course, that both he and Howard had made their fortune off it, but reading about all the million dollar-deals Stark Industries had signed still took him aback. Seeing how much money the company lost when Stark had pulled out of weapons manufacturing, however, made his jaw drop. He’d followed link after link, wondering how Stark Industries had survived all the upheaval, and didn’t even notice when the next few articles started to focus less on Stark the business tycoon and more on Stark the man. Before he knew it, almost two hours had passed, and he knew much more about Stark’s professional and personal life than he would’ve ever thought he cared to find out. 

Steve hadn’t realized how significant it was that Stark was always around, but discovering that people were willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to have an hour of Stark’s time _made_ him aware of it. Article after article called him “brilliant,” praised his “incredible mind,” claimed he was an “unparalleled genius.” Companies paid Stark to consult on their projects; universities asked him to give speeches to their graduating students. _Stark._

And other than occasionally muttering at JARVIS and taking a couple of hours in the afternoon during which Steve would hear blasts of music or the odd crash from somewhere around the penthouse, Stark had taken a week away from everything in order to be available to Steve—a week, and Stark hadn’t indicated he expected anything to change in the near future.

He tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with him. Considering all the _other_ articles he’d read about him, Steve knew that Stark played just as hard as he worked. Who was to say that he wouldn’t have chosen to stay in the penthouse even if Steve hadn’t been around? It wasn’t as if Stark _had_ to work. He’d stepped down as CEO of Stark Industries after all, and Stark had more money already than he could spend in multiple lifetimes.

Steve couldn’t make himself believe it, though. And he didn’t know what to think about it, that Stark would do something like that for him, because no matter how often he tried to justify Stark’s actions with the Avengers’ Initiative, it didn’t make sense that Stark would put his life on hold.

The other possibility, that Stark _wanted_ to do it—because it was the right thing to do, because even if he and Stark didn’t get along always, taking care of Steve still _mattered_ to Stark—was unthinkable.

He couldn’t deny, however, that the worry that Stark was getting ready to terminate their contract had faded significantly by the time he turned off the computer. It wasn’t completely gone, but Steve was more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey,” Stark said when Steve made his way back into the living room. He was sitting on the long couch, watching car racing. “Weren’t you a busy little bee today?”

For a guilty second, Steve thought he was talking about his research on _him_ , but Stark’s expression was too open, not irritated or amused enough to go along with the comment the way Steve was imagining, and he realized he was just referring to the fact that he’d been on the computer twice today.

“There’s not much to do here,” Steve said a trifle meanly, and it was both true and not, but he was rattled from what he’d learned and how he’d learned it, and he hadn’t expected Stark to be waiting for him.

Stark’s eyebrows came down in a slight squint, but he didn’t comment on his tone, and Steve hated the relief he felt when he noticed that Stark was giving him his full concentration, was _there_ in a way that he hadn’t been all day.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark said. “How would you feel about going out with me tonight?”

“Go out where?” Steve asked suspiciously, even as his heart started to beat faster. They hadn’t left the penthouse all week. Why the offer now? Especially after the way Stark had been acting all day. What was Stark thinking? And did Steve even care if it meant leaving?

“Anywhere. Well, within reason. I got a message saying SHIELD wants you to stop by in the morning for a checkup,” Stark said, rolling his eyes. “But otherwise, the sky’s the limit. Kind of. How do you feel about flying?”

“In a plane?” Steve asked, because Stark couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was suggesting.

“No. With me.” Stark stood up. “C’mon. We’ve been cooped up here for days, and I for one am going stir-crazy. I’m surprised you haven’t started bouncing off the walls to be honest.”

Steve hesitated. The careless way in which Stark was offering freedom—no matter how temporary—made him paranoid that it’d be rescinded just as casually as soon as he said yes. Although . . . was that what Stark had been dwelling on all day long? Why would he have been so closed off then?

“Oh, for Pete’s—you can’t tell me that you’ve been _happy_ with us being wallflowers all week! We’ve been good, staying under the radar and taking time to bond and all that, but the honeymo—but that’s all over now!” 

Stark moved around the coffee table until he was next to Steve. “Let your hair down a little, Steve! Let me show you around New York.”

Steve saw how he started to raise his arm as if to lay it across Steve’s shoulders but checked himself mid-motion, using the momentum to gesture out the floor-to-ceiling windows instead. While Stark touched him all the time—hitting or defending or trying to get him in some sort of hold—it would’ve been only the second time Stark had ever tried to touch him in friendship, the third if he counted when they first met. Steve didn’t know which surprised him the most: that he’d been keeping track, that Stark respected his boundaries, or that he almost wished Stark had gone through with it after all.

“Why would you want to be in here when you can be out there? C’mon, Steve. Don’t you _want_ to go?” he asked, finally looking a little uncertain.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low, and he didn’t think Stark could understand how much. But the smile that spread across Stark’s face made him wonder if that was true after all. “So let’s go.”

He swallowed. “As simple as that?”

“Basically,” Stark said, his smile turning gentle. “Yeah.”

\-----

Steve had never felt anything like it before. He’d jumped out of planes of course, but there’d only been one way to go then, and control had been an illusion in the face of the elements and the threat of enemy fire. 

Flying with Stark was chaos and cold, fear and exhilaration. It was seeing the blur of lights as they raced past and feeling the heavy push of air trying to tear him away. Stark had given him a helmet, saying he’d be grateful for it once they were up in the air. Steve did appreciate the protection from the wind, but he was still tempted to take it off, to feel the biting rush against his face.

Stark muttered to himself and JARVIS at first, calibrating and adjusting and who knew what else, and Steve used the time to take in all the things that had changed. Everything that had changed. 

At least there was an everything _to_ change, he thought. If Red Skull had had his way, none of this would’ve been around; but he hadn’t won, and Steve had been part of that. It had to count for something.

He could feel the lump growing in his throat, and he tightened his grip on Stark’s arms, which was alright, because it was metal under his hands, and Stark would never know. 

“Hey, watch this,” Stark said after a minute, the only warning before he dived, plunging towards the water below, only pulling up when Steve could see the spray leaving droplets against his face shield. 

Stark twisted and turned, going faster and faster as he showed off, until Steve finally yelled, “You’re crazy!” the words forced out, but it was better than the yell that had wanted to escape, far better than giving vent to the emotions that had surged forward before Stark began his wild maneuvers.

“Oh, you know you like it,” Stark said, but he slowed down and swung back over the city, pointing out buildings and parks and little delis that served pastrami you could die for, and he told Steve how they could visit them all, whenever Steve wanted now that they’d finally left the roost.

They flew for a long time, long enough for Steve’s fingers and toes to get numb, even with all the extra layers. He kept waiting for Stark to turn back, to say he was bored or he’d had enough, but Stark’s voice didn’t tire as he acted as tour guide, and his arms never faltered, not once giving any hint of letting go. Any nervousness Steve might have felt when they’d first blasted off into the sky had all but disappeared, and he felt safe, he realized. Secure.

“Can you take us back?” he asked then, voice rasping, and Stark obligingly turned around.

“Too much for one night?” he asked, solicitous.

And Steve answered honestly, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks to the awesome, wonderful MetaAllu for beta'ing this chapter! *blows kisses* It's the only chapter that's beta'd right now. >_>
> 
> I actually started writing chapter 8 and got about 2K into it when I realized I needed ANOTHER chapter to lead into the chapter I was writing. SIGH. So for anyone curious, I have 2K of chapter 9 written. Also, there might be some med kink coming up. *cough, cough* Maybe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more medical kink in this chapter. It just wouldn't work though. Seriously, I could write pages and PAGES of medical kink. But no.
> 
> All my love to MetaAllu. <3

When Stark had told him he had a checkup scheduled, Steve hadn’t really thought much about it. He’d seen too many doctors in his life, before and after the Serum, to worry about one more. 

What he’d failed to consider, however, was that he had a Dom now, and that meant that if he had an appointment, then Stark had an appointment too. 

Steve paused mid-step as Stark started following him out of the waiting area, obviously planning to come along, and he and the nurse, Sara, both halted as well, looking at him like they were wondering what the hold-up was. 

He gave a tight smile before starting up again. Stupid. _Of course_ Stark would come with him. They were going to discuss his health. The nurse and doctor would both be touching him. He and Stark had just contracted. It would have been strange if Stark _hadn’t_ come.

It didn’t make Steve feel any more comfortable about the idea, however. Growing up, his mother and then someone from the orphanage had accompanied him to his medical visits, and after he’d moved to the boarding house, Bucky had done it whenever he could.

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest that always surfaced when he thought about the people he’d left behind.

Later on, most of his physicals had been done in the presence of so many other people—potential enlistees or soldiers or a roomful of doctors eager to poke and prod him for themselves—that it hadn’t mattered he didn’t have someone there specifically for him. But now there was Stark, someone who barely knew him—barely _liked_ him in all honestly—standing next to Steve like he had no intention of going anywhere.

Steve didn’t know how he felt about that or about all the time and energy Stark had already devoted to him, everything he’d learned and experienced the previous night seeming almost unreal in the cold light of day.

He didn’t know what to feel about Stark at all most of the time. He was a combination of brashness and obnoxiousness and humor with an underlying layer of consideration that left Steve unbalanced, and if that weren’t enough, he’d taken Steve flying . . .

He found himself shivering at the memory.

Between the two of them, there was no doubt that Steve was stronger. Their sparring every day only reinforced the knowledge, as if either of them would forget. He hadn’t thought, however, about how helpless he’d be when he was in the air, how it would feel for Stark to hold him, trapped and safe. 

He hadn’t known what he was agreeing to when he took Stark up on his offer. And now it was too late to take it back.

“So how are we feeling today?”

He jumped a little when Nurse Sara started her litany of questions, so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even paid attention to the fact that they’d arrived in the exam room. Stark turned his attention to his phone as soon as he sat down and didn’t try to answer for him, even though the questions had been directed at the both of them. Stark even pulled out . . . earbuds? He thought that was what they were called. . . that he stuck into his ears, faint bits of music escaping, and seemed to stop paying attention to the two of them at all. 

By the expression on her face, Nurse Sara probably thought Stark was being rude, and a few days ago, Steve might have even agreed, even as he railed against having Stark there. Now, however, he saw it for what it was: Stark was trying to give him what privacy he could. 

It wasn’t necessary. Nothing she was asking was information they wouldn’t put in his files after all, something which Stark had complete access to as his Dom. He appreciated the gesture, however, and the intent behind it.

“Well, I’ll let Dr. Reynolds know you’re here,” Nurse Sara said at last, smiling back at him as she walked to a cupboard. “He’s going to want to examine you, so please get completely undressed, underwear too, and put this gown on with the opening in the back. You can use this sheet to cover your lap if you’d like.”

He let the material hang from his hand. “Excuse me, ma’am, but . . . I thought this was just going to be a routine physical.”

“It is,” she assured him. “But since it’s your first time in after being contracted, the doctor thought it’d be a good idea to check for any scarring or tearing.”

Steve’s jaw dropped slightly. Scarring? _Tearing_? They were going to . . . 

No.

Except . . .

He hadn’t broached the idea of Stark being his Dom in name only yet. He’d been waiting, wanting to give them both more time to interact and to show Stark that he was adjusting to his new life. Not that everything was perfect, because it wasn’t, and not that Steve could pretend he was completely over what had happened to him. He wasn’t that good of an actor, and he doubted Stark would’ve believed him anyway. But he’d wanted to show that he was getting better. 

How would Stark react, though, to Steve refusing a medical check-up? What would he think? How would it affect Steve’s plans?

Were those kind of exams normal now? Did every Sub visit his or her doctor after signing a contract? Steve didn’t know if it was a good or bad idea, because he’d seen Subs who looked terrible after getting a Dom, and he could see why it might be necessary in some cases. But in his?

Stark had already told him that he expected Steve to not embarrass him in public. Rule number two. Would this count? 

They hadn’t even . . . Stark had barely _touched_ him, let alone done anything that would require a doctor, but would explaining that make things better or worse? How would the doctor and SHIELD handle finding out that the contract hadn’t been . . . invoked?

He wasn’t even wearing a collar. He’d mentioned it before they’d left, but all Stark had done was cock an eyebrow and ask, “Do you _want_ a collar?”

And Steve had shaken his head, one brief turn to the side and back.

“Then don’t worry about it.” Stark had slid on a pair of sunglasses and smiled sharply. “I’m not going to put a collar on you that you don’t want.”

But he’d gotten a few odd looks from some of the personnel, to the point that he was all too conscious of a weight that had never been there. He knew that Stark got a lot of leeway from Fury—had seen with his own eyes the way Stark talked to him—but how many black marks were too many?

Could he even go through with it?

He’d gotten undressed in front of doctors in the past. Completely undressed even. This wasn’t so different from any time before. 

Except for how it was, and how Stark would be right there to witness it all.

But Stark was just another guy in the end. It wasn’t like Steve had been able to retain much modesty in the orphanage or in the barracks. And even if it was unusual, he’d gotten naked in front of Doms as well as Subs over the years—out in the field when separation was virtually impossible and during other medical examinations as they tried to figure out what Dr. Erskine’s formula—although it’d been completely nonsexual.

He realized he was rubbing his wrist, and he forced himself to stop.

It wouldn’t be any different.

Stark glanced up at the sound of the door closing, loud enough apparently to be heard over the din in his ears.

“You’d think SHIELD would—” He stopped, eyes darting to the gown in Steve’s hand, to his face and the door and then back. “You know what, nevermind,” Stark mumbled, hunching over his phone and shifting so his back was more towards him. Steve could hear the music get louder.

Stark obviously expected him to go through with it. 

His fingers tightened around the gown, and he stared down at it, teeth gritting together, trying to ignore the betrayal that started building within him.

Stark was just doing what he was expected to do too. It wasn’t his fault. 

But there was a part of Steve that couldn’t believe he was letting it happen.

Steve shifted on the examination table, the plastic crinkling loudly underneath him, and he glanced at Stark before he could stop himself.

Stark was very courteously absorbed in his phone, though, just like he’d been ever since they’d entered the room, and it didn’t change when someone knocked on the door perfunctorily and then walked in.

“Hello, Steve. I’m Dr. Reynolds,” the man said, a Dom from his bearing, and he addressed Steve and not Stark, although he didn’t offer his hand, and neither did Steve.

“Hello,” Steve said, and he fought the urge to adjust the sheet over his lap more securely.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, moving a stool with wheels closer to the exam table and putting the computer he was holding onto the counter. 

“Fine.”

“Good, good. Has anything changed since the last time you were in? Any signs of sickness? Tiredness?” Dr. Reynolds asked, smiling congenially, as if he thought that would somehow put Steve at ease.

“No,” he said, the same as he’d done in every previous check-up, but they insisted on asking.

“Excellent. And how are you adjusting to being in a contract? I know it can be stressful at first, being in a new situation.”

Steve didn’t look over at Stark. “It’s fine.”

Dr. Reynolds was the one to turn towards Stark, his expression carefully neutral. “I see. Well, then,” he said, rising and smiling at Steve again, although it seemed slightly less pleased than before. “Are there any bruises or abrasions or cuts that you’d like me to take a look at?” he asked, washing his hands at the sink.

“No,” Steve said, his shoulders tightening. 

Dr. Reynolds made a noncommittal noise as he dried his hands, but his eyes were keen. He didn’t say much for a while other than asking Steve to take deep breaths or to move in a certain way or if something hurt, his hands cold as they palpated his skin, carefully shifting the gown when necessary. 

What was even the purpose of the drape, Steve wondered, as it tore for the third time, the crumpled paper ratcheted back to reveal rents of naked skin. He forced himself to let go of the drape so the damage wouldn’t get even worse, and he stared straight ahead, not twitching when the doctor pressed on any of the bruises that littered his body, even if the feel of his fingers made him want to cringe. He didn’t like being touched, but he could damn well put up with it. 

Stark had only ever managed to hit him solidly once—and how he had crowed, so delighted with himself—but there was no way to avoid the marks from when Stark struggled to get free from his holds, elbows jabbing at soft tissue, fingers gouging in where they could. Last night had left him with even more, his weight completely supported by Stark’s arms and chest, the metal digging into him. He didn’t know if it helped or hurt their situation that he wore them on his skin, and he didn’t want to see Dr. Reynold’s expression as he examined them, didn’t want to see him so close up at all.

“Some of these are pretty deep, but overall, they look good,” Dr. Reynold’s said, stepping back, and Steve wondered if he were imagining the flat tone of his voice. “No lacerations anywhere. And you aren’t experiencing any internal pain? Or anything that seems out of the ordinary?” 

Steve shook his head, muscles tensing further as he realized what was coming up next. He tried to push away the echo of wrongness, the doctor’s touches still ghosting over his skin, and searched for a sense of equilibrium. It was going to be much worse very soon.

He realized he was looking toward Tony, who still had his head bent down over his phone, and he wrenched his gaze away.

“Alright then, I’m going to give you a lab slip so they can take a few blood samples, but you look to be doing well. We just have one last thing to do, and then you can be on your way.”

A few more minutes, and he’d be done, he thought, noticing his breathing was coming faster but unable to stop it. He could put up with anything for a few more minutes.

“I’ll just do a quick visual inspection and then perform a physical examination for any internal bleeding. If you don’t mind lying back and scooting down to the edge of the table . . .” Dr. Reynolds pulled out stirrups from the corners of the table and frowned at Steve when he remained sitting in place.

He couldn’t do it, Steve realized. He wouldn’t. The elusive calm he’d desperately been searching for finally settled over him as he made his decision. Just the _thought_ of being that exposed to the doctor made him want to break something, and not for Stark or his opportunity at freedom would he—

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Stark asked, and Steve’s head whipped around in time to see him stand, the chair legs knocking as Stark shoved his seat against the wall. Steve had never seen that expression on his face before. He hadn’t known Stark _could_ make that expression, not for him.

“Mr. Stark—”

“Get out,” Stark said, jerking the earbuds out, the music blaring. He moved forward until he could push his way between Steve and the doctor, bumping into Steve’s knees in the process and forcing Dr. Reynolds to take a few steps back. 

Steve blinked, looking from the rigid line of Stark’s shoulders to the affronted face of Dr. Reynolds. Stark wasn’t exactly blocking him, being smaller and shorter than Steve, but . . .

It’d been a long time since anyone had tried to defend him.

“ _Mr._ Stark—”

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Stark said in a voice that dripped dominance, and Steve’s eyebrows came up in surprise. He’d known that Stark was a Dom, of course, had even seen flashes of it under the lackadaisical exterior, but there was knowing, and then there was _knowing_ . . .

And apparently, Steve _hadn’t_ known after all.

It flustered Dr. Reynolds as well, who said, “Dr. Fury explicitly stated that I was to check up on all aspects of Steve’s health, including—”

“That’s _Captain Rogers_ to you, asshole, and I don’t give a flying fuck what Fury said! You’re not touching him again.”

The doctor drew himself up. “Unless it’s escaped your attention, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers is still a member of the United States’ armed forces, an obligation which supersedes your contract. I can have you brought up on charges of interfering with—”

“Try. Me,” Stark said, and Steve would’ve given almost anything to see what expression he had on his face now to make Dr. Reynolds falter like that.

“This isn’t the last—”

“Oh, fuck you too. Get out!”

He went.

Stark didn’t move after the door closed, not for a long time, and Steve took his cue from him, staying on the table, even though he wanted nothing more than to get down. He could be patient, though, if Stark needed him to be.

“I’m sorry,” Stark said at last, his voice much softer than it’d been seconds before. He didn’t turn around. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“You were just trying to do the right thing,” he said, surprised by the apology, although maybe he shouldn’t have been. Stark wasn’t . . . Stark wasn’t anything like he’d expected. “It’s not your fault,” he said, and this time he believed it.

“Yes, it was,” Stark snapped, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. “It won’t happen again,” he said, turning toward him, and Steve didn’t know what to do with the promise in his eyes.

He wanted to believe him. 

And following up on that thought was the realization that he relief he felt wasn’t based on the fact that Stark had stepped in, but that Stark had _cared_. That he hadn’t let him down.

Steve froze.

Stark smiled when he didn’t respond, if a person could call it that, the corner of his mouth twisting up.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he said roughly, pulling the curtain around Steve’s bed so he was outside of it, and Steve could see his body outlined in the fabric, standing guard until he came out.

\-----

_”Wider, Steve. I can’t see anything with your knees pressed together like that. You don’t want me to have to do the test over again, do you?”_

_Steve shivered, even though it wasn’t cold in the room, was almost too warm as a matter of fact. He did as he was asked, though, slowly letting his legs fall open until he was completely on display, his feet flexing in the damn stirrups._

_Tony hummed, in appreciation of the view or of his compliance, Steve didn’t know, but he closed his eyes at the small sound of approval, swallowing heavily, fingers gripping the edges of the table._

_For a while, there wasn’t any sound except the pounding in his ears and the scritch-scratch of pencil on paper as Tony jotted down a few notes. Steve wondered what he could possibly be writing, wanting to ask but not wanting to know if it wasn’t about him._

_It would’ve been perfectly reasonable to cover himself or close his legs while he waited, but he didn’t do either._

_“I didn’t realize how many marks I’d left on you,” Tony said at last, dropping the clipboard on the exam tray and stepping closer until he was between his thighs. Unlike Tony who was fully dressed, Steve was only wearing his hospital gown, but the opening was in the front this time, the sides pulled open, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than if he’d been completely naked._

_“Does it hurt?” Tony asked, reaching, his coat dragging between Steve’s legs in the process and making him gasp, arching up. It meant that Tony could press that much more firmly on one of the bruises high on his ribs as a result._

_Steve hissed at the pain, his eyes flying to Tony’s face as he smiled, teeth showing, and pressed down harder._

_“It looks like it hurts,” Tony said, but when he glanced down, it was toward Steve’s cock, already leaking precome. “I bet I could make it hurt even more.”_

Steve jerked awake, confused for a second about where he was and what he was doing—until he realized his hand was on his cock. And he was hard. He was aching. 

Humiliation and lust warred for equal control. He’d been dreaming. About being back in the—

Except this time it wasn’t some unknown doctor touching him but—

And he’d been—

Lust won.

Steve was too close not to finish, too close to even make his way out of the bed, so he did it right there, curled on his side with his hand working frantically while he muffled his groans and pretended that he didn’t miss the bite of pain.

He didn’t think about anything. He didn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...it's been a while. >_>
> 
> I wanted to thank all the people who've commented and left a kudos over the course of this fic so far. I was staring at the the numbers the other day and just thinking, wow. Wow, guys. And I really, really, really appreciate all the support, even though this has been the slowest updated story of all time. You guys keep me going, through when I thought I was leaving fandom, in the middle of moving and having no internet, and struggling through tons of writer's block, and seriously, you guys are the best. 
> 
> Many, many thanks as always to MetaAllu who read over this for me and convinced me to add another 1,000 words. You rock, bb.

“What the fuck was he doing?” Tony growled at Fury, keeping his voice low, as if Steve could somehow hear him from a floor away and through the soundproofed walls of his lab. It was the guilt making him so paranoid, he knew, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Steve had seemed fine once they’d left SHIELD, had been more interested in exploring Central Park than dwelling on the events of the morning, but the last thing Tony wanted was for Steve to know he was talking about him behind his back. 

Tony had fucked up enough already. He didn’t want to make things worse between them.

He’d thought he was doing the right thing by keeping his head down, both literally and figuratively, but he hadn’t expected the situation to blow up in face. Maybe he should have though. When had anything gone right for him with Steve after all?

“I’m handling it,” Fury said, not looking half as upset as Tony thought he should.

“I’ve _seen_ the way you’ve been handling things—”

“Dr. Reynolds was overzealous—”

“Is _that_ what you’re calling it these days?” asked Tony in disbelief.

“I’m not trying to excuse him. There _is_ no excuse. But you have to understand that—” 

“I don’t _have_ to do anything.” Tony’s jaw clenched as he glared at the monitor, the only thing keeping him from exploding the knowledge that for all of his anger at Fury, Tony was the one who should’ve stopped things before they got out of hand. “Is this how all military Subs are treated?” 

“Steve isn’t your typical military Sub.”

“No,” Tony said, leaning forward. “He’s _not_.”

Fury watched him for a second before letting out a sigh. “As I said already, I’m handling it. Reynolds won’t ever be in the same room as Steve again, let alone treat him, and the next time he comes in for an exam—”

“ _If_ he comes in.”

The silence was longer this time. “Don’t turn this into a pissing contest, Stark—”

“I’m not—are you even listening to yourself?” he asked, slapping his hand down on the table. “‘He was overzealous. He won’t be in the same room as Steve.’ _So the hell what_?” he said, nearly shouting, and apparently he’d gotten over the paranoia. “If you think for one second that I’m going to drag Steve into another ambush, then it’s time for you to retire as head of an army of spies, because you are batshit insane! Steve isn’t setting foot on SHIELD territory until I have a fucking guarantee that something like this won’t happen again! That _nothing_ like this is going to happen again!” 

His words seem to ring in the silence, and Fury folded his hands together in front of him, looking at Tony consideringly. “You have my word,” he said at last, calm and apparently completely sincere, and the turnabout had Tony floundering.

“What?” he asked feebly.

“You want a guarantee; you have it.” Fury inclined his head at him, and maybe it was Tony’s imagination, but he seemed much more animated than he had when they’d first started this conversation. Not that Fury was ever really brimming with emotions or anything other than weary scorn, but still. Relatively.

The words didn’t make his anger disappear, but it was hard to maintain the same degree of combativeness when Fury was being so reasonable all the sudden—which was rather suspicious, if he did say so himself, but they were arguing over Captain America after all instead of their normal subject, i.e. Tony, so maybe that made all the difference. 

On the other hand, Fury _could_ just be trying to distract Tony with agreeableness while he came up with some other, diabolical scheme that was just going to end in tears. It wasn’t like Tony would be able to tell one way or the other until it was too late, however, so he finally just said, “Well . . . alright then,” all the wind knocked out of his sails.

It wasn’t until later that night, after Steve had gotten several more strikes in than normal during their sparring—just because he’d been distracted, and not out of some weird sort of penance, even if Steve _had_ suggested they end early multiple times and had finally been the one to call it quits—that it hit him. 

He’d all but declared himself to Fury. Tony’s jaw went slack. What with the whole overprotective Dom schtick and all the chest-pounding, he’d been asserting his claim left and right in a way that no one in a contract of-of _convenience_ would ever do. No wonder Fury had seemed more animated! He’d probably been secretly cackling with glee!

He didn’t know if Fury had set up the whole thing in order to get Tony to react, or if he was just taking advantage of the situation—although it better be the second, because the thought of Fury arranging the exam on purpose had him wanting to pull up the plans for the last missiles he’d been designing before he’d gotten out of the weapons business—but either way, Fury had to be pleased with the results.

“That smug, manipulative, son-of-a-bitch!” he whispered and weighed the likelihood that Fury thought he was just being a good Dom versus him realizing how much he’d come to care for Steve. 

He groaned, covering his face with his pillow. Fuck, he was so screwed.

\-----

“Oh hey, is that for me?” Tony asked, grabbing one of the sandwiches off the plate on the counter. Maybe he should’ve waited for confirmation from Steve, but he wouldn’t have waited before all of this had happened, and he wanted to get back to where they’d been before everything had all gone so horribly wrong yesterday. 

He froze mid-bite when he realized he was actually thinking about their previous tense quasi-relationship with a sense of nostalgia, and seriously, what was his life?

“Yes,” Steve said, and it took Tony a second to comprehend he was responding to his question, but when he did, he immediately looked over at him. Steve, however, was focused on his plate and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Well . . . thanks,” Tony said after swallowing, and he sat down on a stool. It had to be a good sign that Steve was still willing to make him food, didn’t it? 

Unless he’d tampered with it somehow.

He eyed the sandwich, debating whether or not to take another bite.

“Is something wrong?”

“No!” Tony said, turning to smile brightly at Steve. What the hell. Steve wasn’t the vindictive type. He didn’t think. And besides, in for a penny, in for a pound. He took a big bite.

He slowed down after that, however, drawing out his lunch until he would’ve had to lick the crumbs off his plate to get anything else and Steve was pushing his stool back to get up, and it was only then that he finally managed to force himself to blurt, “I think you should choose a safeword.” 

Steve became very still. “I see,” he said at last, straightening up, his voice curiously blank.

Tony had spent a lot of time thinking about Steve when he couldn’t fall asleep the previous night, too wired from imagining all the various ways Fury was going to take advantage of his newfound knowledge. He’d finally gotten fed up with worrying about it and moved on to more important things since one, he’d always faced up to the mistakes he made, and two, while blabbering to Fury might not have been the smartest move on his part, it wasn’t like he could say _Steve_ was a mistake anymore and mean it. 

What he’d needed to figure out was how to avoid a repeat of the cluster-fuck that had been that morning, however, and the answer had been so obvious that he was amazed it’d taken him so long to think of it.

“Really, we should’ve picked one right away, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t going to respect a ‘stop,’ so I didn’t think it was necessary at first. This way, you can let me know when you’re feeling uncomfortable or when you just can’t or won’t do something—”

“I know what a safeword is for.”

“Good,” Tony said, although it came out too heartily, as if he could compensate for how wooden Steve’s voice had become. He knew some Subs didn’t want a safeword, but he didn’t think Steve was one of them, especially considering how short a time they’d known each other. 

Was it just because he hadn’t suggested Steve give him one sooner? But that didn’t seem right. Steve wasn’t exactly timid, and surely he would’ve said something if he’d wanted one off the bat?

Actually, now that Tony thought about it, it was a little strange that Steve _hadn’t_ demanded one as soon as he’d signed the contract, especially considering how prickly he’d been the first day. Tony mentally went over the terms, and yeah, it’d been part of their contract, so he was surprised Steve hadn’t wanted to use his safeword in any and all circumstances he thought he could get away with it—

Tony blinked down at the crumbs on his plate, his brain stumbling and stopping before starting up again.

Assuming he knew that he _could_ use it. Assuming he knew that safewords were for more than just scening. 

How likely was that, though, when he’d never subbed for anyone before?

“Good,” Tony said again, tired all of the sudden, exhausted really. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was another reason that Steve was acting so oddly, and maybe he wasn’t sitting there thinking all sorts of terrible things about Tony like he had the first day. Maybe they’d moved past that into something resembling trust.

He doubted it, though.

 _But whose fault is that,_ a little voice whispered in his head, _when you’ve already failed Steve once?_

No, not once. Many times. Not giving Steve a safeword immediately, not looking past his obnoxious behavior and staying with him when he moved into the penthouse, not making it clear that Tony would never, _ever_ take advantage of Steve like that, the list went on and on. Although how likely was it that Steve would’ve believed him? (And he couldn’t stop the thought that Pepper was wrong; that Tony was the _last_ person Steve would ever want to scene with, his half-formed hopes of being allowed to take care of Steve that way withering and dying.)

He dredged up a smile from somewhere and said, “So think about it, and tell me what you pick. I’d prefer that you don’t use it for the small stuff just to annoy me, like what we’re going to eat for dinner or what we’re going to watch on any given night, but it’s your right either way. Something like yesterday shouldn’t happen again,” and it wouldn’t, his voice said, his tone turning hard, “but if it does, yes, please use it right away.”

His eyes skittered to the side, for his sake or Steve’s, or maybe both. “I want you to know that I don’t expect anything . . . sexual . . . from you,” he said, cringing internally but determined to get the words out, no matter how blunt and tactless they came across. 

“I would never order you to _accommodate_ me, or, or try to take your submission when it wasn’t freely given, and I should’ve made that clear from day one. I wouldn’t—” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t do that. And maybe you already know this, or maybe you don’t, but safewords aren’t only used in the bedroom, and the reason I want you to pick one has nothing to do with anything other than wanting you to feel as secure as you can.” 

He got up, the sound of the stool scraping against the wood too loud, but at least it filled the silence. At least he could concentrate on carefully setting his plate into the sink instead of how quiet Steve was, and it was only coincidence that he didn’t look at Steve again and not because he was avoiding his eyes. “Let me know when you’ve chosen,” he said before turning tail and fleeing. 

\-----

Steve watched Stark leave the room, knowing he should say something to stop him but unable to find the right words.

He’d thought he’d gotten to the point where he didn’t automatically assume the worst about Stark, but he’d been wrong. 

_I think you should choose a safeword._

The words had been like a blow, leaving him hurt and reeling, because they could only mean one thing: Stark had finally decided to assert his rights as his Dom without asking, without caring how Steve felt or what he wanted. Nevermind what Steve had dreamed last night—although for one awful moment, he’d wondered if it was his fault that Stark had brought it up, if he’d just _known_ , Steve’s shame written across his face.

Except then Stark had started talking again, and it’d been painfully obvious that he’d known the direction of Steve’s thoughts from the way he’d turned from him then, his expression becoming pained and tight, but not angry. He’d never once looked angry.

Steve should’ve said something then, had wanted to, had been tempted to lie and claim he’d already known that Stark would never use him like that. He rarely lied to himself, however, and he never lied to anyone else with the exception of the enemy, and Stark kept trying to prove over and over again that he didn’t belong in that category.

_The reason I want you to pick one has nothing to do with anything other than wanting you to feel as secure as you can._

It’d been a long time since he’d felt this ashamed of himself, and he found he hadn’t missed the feeling at all.

He would’ve liked to blame it on the dream, wished that being unsettled from thinking about Stark in that way, from calling him by his first name and imagining himself submit to Stark were valid excuses for his behavior, but they weren’t. None of the events from the previous day, from the visit to SHIELD to what had happened after he’d woken up, should’ve affected how he reacted to Stark’s suggestion. 

Stark had never indicated that he . . . _wanted_ . . . Steve, hadn’t pressured him or made him feel that he owed Stark anything; had done the opposite in fact. He remembered Stark standing between him and the doctor and his assurances afterward, the way he’d been so gentle with him the rest of the day, not like he thought Steve was broken but like he couldn’t help himself, and he felt his stomach twist in a combination of remorse and guilt.

_I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t do that._

“I believe you,” Steve said quietly, too late and to an empty room, but promising himself that this time, it’d be true.

\-----

“Do you have a minute?” Steve asked, hovering uncertainly at Tony’s door, and it was the first time he’d ever come to Tony’s bedroom.

“Sure,” Tony said, moving away from the window where he’d been staring outside toward the sitting area, awkwardly gesturing for Steve to sit down in one of the armchairs.

Steve shook his head, walking in until he was a few feet away, and Tony had been around the military enough to recognize a parade rest when he saw one. He had just a second to wonder what Steve was going to say, dread making him twitchy, when Steve spoke.

“I would like to . . . I want to apologize. For earlier. For—”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it,” Tony said, startled and so relieved that he was almost giddy with it, and he didn’t need any more from Steve than that, barely knew what to do with having gotten that much from him.

“I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“It’s _okay_ ,” Tony assured him, interrupting again because seriously. It would’ve been one thing if either of them had been enjoying the self-flagellation, but it was entirely another when neither of them wanted it. 

“I should’ve known you didn’t want me that way—”

“What?” Tony said sharply, not even meaning to that time, but there was something in Steve’s tone that made it impossible to keep quiet, like _of course_ Tony didn’t want him. 

It had Steve meeting his eyes finally, some of the rigid tension seeping away, but it had the opposite effect on him, and he stared back, panic starting to well up.

“I mean,” he stuttered. “That is . . .” 

He couldn’t decipher the expression on Steve’s face, wasn’t sure he wanted to, and he didn’t understand how he got himself in these situations with no easy way out. 

But Steve kept _looking_ at him, and the silence was dragging out, and it was becoming easier and easier to see the hints of resignation appearing on Steve’s face.

“It’s not about _wanting_ ,” he said at last, wishing he’d never opened his damn mouth, but refusing to keep quiet because he wouldn’t hurt Steve again, not if he could help it. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

“Are . . . I see,” Steve said, not sounding like he saw at all, and thank fuck. Tony could deal with confusion. Tony could happily deal with confusion all day.

“So glad we had this talk, Steve!” Tony said cheerfully, already moving, and he clapped him on the shoulder and ushered him out of his room, and if there was some resistance, well, who could say for sure? He just knew that he didn’t want Steve to have an epiphany about what he’d just divulged any time soon and _definitely_ not when he was around since it’d make mutually ignoring it that much harder later on, and if that meant pushing Steve a little bit harder than necessary, so be it. “How do you feel about about going up against the suit for our workout today? Great!” he said, not waiting for an answer. “I’ll meet you at the elevator in thirty minutes,” he told him and firmly closed the door before Steve’s heels had even touched the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/9/14 - I sincerely apologize to everyone who's waiting for me to update Nostalgia. I haven't forgotten it! Nor do I plan to abandon it. I just suffered a bout of insanity and signed up for Avengers RBB and the Cap_Ironman BB, so I'm writing a bunch, just not this. >_> But! As soon as I'm done with those, I will update this first thing! So please be patient with me, and I'll be back as soon as I can.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it's almost been a year since I updated this? What? Who? What?
> 
> *hides*

_It’s not about wanting. It’s about doing what’s right._

He stared out the window of the helicopter and wondered what had Stark—Tony, he thought, a little curl of shame wriggling its way up his spine. Surely by now, he deserved to be called by his first name.

Although if he were thinking about all the things Tony deserved, being addressed by his first name was actually very low on the list. 

He shifted in his seat, glancing at Tony and then away.

It wasn’t that Steve had entered their contract with the idea of being . . . bad. 

(There was a part of him that sneered at the idea of being a bad Sub, but it was the same part that had looked down on Star—on _Tony_ —in the first place, the one that kept insisting Tony couldn’t possibly be the Dom that Steve needed, and look where that had gotten him?)

Even now, looking back, he could justify each and every action, because he hadn’t known, hadn’t had any way of knowing what would happen, and maybe he could’ve put more trust in Nick and in Tony, but he’d never been one to blindly go along with what he’d been told to do.

So while he hadn’t moved in with Tony with the intention of being bad, he was starting to feel like that was how he’d been acting anyway.

_It’s about doing what’s right._

And how that made him tense, hearing those words, because Tony had been trying to do the right thing all this time, and Steve had always assumed he’d choose the opposite.

He was going to make it up to Tony, he was, even if he didn’t know how yet, but Tony was still willing to give him a chance, and Steve wanted—

_It’s not about wanting._

Steve still wasn’t sure what Tony meant by that. He had his suspicions—he remembered Tony’s expression, reluctant and pained, and why would he look like that if he weren’t forcing himself to admit to something he’d wanted to hide?—but he couldn’t bring himself to believe. 

Because if Tony was actually saying what Steve thinks he was saying, then . . .

Then what?

He hadn’t wanted this bonding. And yes, being with a Dom hadn’t turned out to be as horrible as he’d thought it would, but that was due more to luck than anything else. 

Luck, and Tony.

Steve rubbed his thumb against the edge of his shield, back and forth, back and forth.

This hadn’t been his choice. But.

It was loud in the helicopter, too loud to carry on a conversation even with the microphone that was part of their headset, and the pilot was there as well—not that Steve wanted to talk to Tony about this right now. Well, he did and he didn’t. What would he say? If Tony had meant—if Tony _wanted_ —

He realized that his leg was bouncing up and down, and he took a deep breath, making himself stop. He wished they were there already. Wherever there was. 

When Tony had suggested fighting against the Iron Man suit, Steve had assumed it’d be in the gym, where they normally trained. Sure, it would’ve restricted Tony’s movements, but considering Iron Man had projectile weapons and could fly, Steve hadn’t been concerned it would give him an undue advantage.

Instead of taking the elevator down, however, they’d gone up to the roof where the helicopter and pilot had been waiting—and he could recognize now that he’d been disappointed when he realized Tony hadn’t been planning to fly with Steve in his arms like before. If he was being truthful, he still was.

Being truthful, however, was . . . intimidating. He hadn’t expected to get along with Tony, let alone like him. The possibility of, of more was—

“We should arrive in five minutes,” the pilot said, breaking the silence that had been with them throughout the ride.

Steve nodded, although no one was looking at him, and he curled his fingers around the edge of the shield, waiting.

\-----

“Okay, so I had to build a new suit for this,” Tony told him once they’re on the ground, casually, like wasn’t important that he’d spent millions—billions?—on something specifically for Steve. 

He swallowed, but it did nothing to soothe the swooping feeling in his stomach.

“Paintballs instead of bullets, water canon instead of laser canon, flash missiles instead of real ones, and high-pressured smoke instead of repulsors. Not that smoke is the greatest substitute for repulsors, but I can’t carry too many tanks without giving up maneuverability and having to change them makes me a sitting duck. I do have one or two surprises up my sleeves, however,” Tony said, and Steve could hear the smile, although his mask was down, “to keep you on your toes.”

“You put a lot of thought into this.”

Tony gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and he did that frequently, Steve thought. For a man who was as loud and attention-seeking as Tony could be, he always downplayed the effort he went to for other people. “I like to tinker. It’s not a big deal.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, even knowing it would make Tony uncomfortable, because he couldn’t not say it, and maybe it really didn’t mean much to Tony—although Steve didn’t believe that was true—but it meant something to him.

Tony’s shoulders rolled in what was probably supposed to be a shrug, and Steve wished he could see his face. “Well, the last thing I want is to have Fury on my back because I’ve purposefully endangered you, and I didn’t think bubble wrap would’ve cut it, so. Anyway, let’s talk rules of engagement.” 

It wasn’t going to be the close-range fighting they’ve been doing up until now, so they agreed that a win would be when one person managed to hit the other with a weapon in their arsenal (in Steve’s case, his fist or his shield). Tony had the obvious advantage, but then, Steve had always had the advantage when they’d sparred before, and Tony had never complained. Besides, Tony had brought him to a place where the terrain could be used in his favor, a heavy forest surrounding the meadow the helicopter had landed in. Tony would have to slow down in order to avoid colliding with anything, and the trees would provide a lot of cover.

“Ready?” 

“Yes.”

“Great,” Tony said, rising up off the ground. “If you ever need to take a break, just yell stop. JARVIS knows to cut all weapon functions if you do. Alright, you’ve got one minute, and then I’m coming after you. Go!”

Steve took off for the tree line, ignoring the voice in his head that wanted to tell Tony he didn’t need a head start. It was a remnant from the days when he’d stand his ground, no matter the odds against him, and it wasn’t necessary here. This was just training, and there was no reason he shouldn’t use the time. Tony’d be able to take him down fast according to their rules if he stood around in the meadow, and that wasn’t what Steve wanted. He wanted Tony to have to fight for it.

He ran into the forest, switching direction as soon as he was far enough in that Tony had lost sight of him, switched again just to be sure. He kept the count in his head as he took stock of his surroundings. The trees were close together, so that he shouldn’t be too visible through the leaves, even with the blue uniform, and the trunks were thick, making him hopeful that some upper branches would be able to support his weight so that he could get higher than Tony would be able fly.

He found a likely area with seventeen seconds to spare and quickened his steps, jumping up and immediately pushing off with one foot as soon as he landed so he could leap from trunk to trunk. He managed to grab a branch and pulled himself up, going as high as he dared before crouching down with the shield in front of him and the tree against his back, between him and the direction he thought Tony would be approaching.

He wasn’t thrilled about the hide-and-seek, but it gave him time to figure out a plan of attack. Repetition would only help Tony, so he was going to have to come up with several different methods to take him by surprise. He’d also have to be mindful of how hard he threw, since unlike Tony, he hadn’t had time to prepare any alternatives. Still, the armor should keep Tony safe as long as Steve was careful.

He settled in to wait, depending on the hum of the repulsors to announce Tony’s presence, but even though he should’ve been considering ways to beat Tony, it wasn’t thoughts of strategy that filled his mind.

_If you ever need to take a break, just yell stop._

Tony had said something similar earlier when he’d brought up safewords, right before Steve had humiliated himself: it wasn’t like he wouldn’t respect a stop if Steve had said it. He’d obviously felt the need to be clear about it now, though.

_JARVIS knows to cut all weapon functions if you do._

Tony had put in safeguards to keep from hurting him unintentionally. It was a thoughtful act, but there was a part of Steve that couldn’t help but think that it put a lot of power into his hands; he could always call out a stop and then keep attacking anyway. Who knew how long it’d take before Tony could use his weapons again, five seconds, ten seconds, a minute? Time enough to take Tony down.

Why would Tony do that? He’d already altered the suit to minimize any potential damage to Steve and giving him even this much control seemed—

The answer came to him, and he had to put his hand down to stabilize himself. 

Why would Tony do it? Because he trusted Steve. 

As simple as that.

He didn’t know why the realization shook him so much, but it did. He’d never questioned why Stark gave him free reign of the Tower, including his lab that housed important company secrets; why Tony put himself in the position of being taken down during their daily matches and never complained about the inevitable bruising or suggested that Steve had done more damage than necessary. He’d always known that he could be trusted, and he’d taken it for granted that Tony would know it too.

But in reality, he hadn’t done anything to _earn_ his trust, with the only possible exception being that he didn’t do anything to break it, every day that passed by without incident proving that Tony’s faith was deserved.

Tony, though, Tony did try. He’d offered his home to Steve, kept his distance, never hinted that Steve owed him anything. That had all been Steve.

Tony had been trying to earn his trust from the very beginning, and Steve hadn’t even bothered to notice.

Fuck.

How the hell had he messed things up so much?

_It’s not about wanting._

What did Tony want? He really . . . he really wanted to know.

The humming of the repulsors snapped him out of his thoughts. This wasn’t the time or the place, especially when he still didn’t know what he to say to Tony. There wasn’t a point in starting the conversation when he couldn’t figure out what his own answers were. But later . . .

He didn’t move as he heard Tony draw closer, not even when Tony seemed to hover in one spot and the temptation to look started welling up. Nerves could be a soldier’s worst enemy, but they didn’t belong here. It was hardly a life-threatening situation, no matter what the adrenaline coursing through his body told him, and he doubted the paintballs could hurt that much if he got shot.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t stop from tensing up when he caught a glimpse of red and gold beneath and to the left of him. Tony hovered in the air as he looked around, his back to Steve, and it was as good as position as he could’ve hoped for, which automatically made him suspicious. Still, if Tony knew where he was, attacking was his best shot anyway, and if he didn’t know, waiting around for Tony to look up and behind him definitely wasn’t going to help.

Steve gauged the distance as well as the number and location of the branches separating him and Tony, and he gave a quick prayer that the branch would hold his weight, before he ran along it’s length, leaping at Tony.

He wasn’t surprised when Tony immediately whirled around—annoyed, yes, but not surprised—and he curled up behind the shield as Tony raised his arms, cursing under his breath.

 _Those must be the paintballs_ , Steve thought as the shield was pelted, but none of them hit his body, which meant the round hadn’t ended yet. Tony was near enough that he was going to have to wait until the last second to extend his legs in order to land and roll out of the way, but if he could get behind another tree, he might still have a chance.

He heard a hollow, popping sound and grunted at the subsequent impact, hard lines wrapping around him in mid-air, squeezing tight. It took much longer than it should have to understand that Tony had netted him, even longer to realize that he was going to fall to the ground and there was nothing he could do about it—

Except then his body was jerking as his momentum changed and he was abruptly being lifted _up_ into the air. 

“Woah, you’re heavier than you look,” Tony said, and before Steve could respond, he asked, “You okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I’m fine,” he said, his words slightly muffled, directed as they were into the shield. And he was, even if his pride might take a minute to recover from being trussed into a ball and carried around. It was better than hitting the dirt, and he wasn’t sure how to describe how he felt knowing that Tony stopped his fall, had made sure to watch out for him in the middle of everything.

“Not too tight?”

He swallowed. “It’s pretty tight,” he said, flexing his muscles. He could probably get out, but there was no point since he’d already lost this round, and Tony would release him eventually. “It’s not unbearable though.”

“Good. Alright, I’m going to let you down now,” Tony said, and Steve could already feel their descent. 

Steve had a vague thought that this must be how a turtle felt as Tony gentled lowered him to the ground so he was on top of the shield, rocking slightly from side to side, and then Tony said, “You sure you’re okay?

“Yes,” Steve said, testing the net one more time. There wasn’t as much flex as he’d first thought. He wondered how long it’d take for him to get free.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Tony said, stepping back. “Now bear with me for a minute,” he said, right before he threw his arms up into the air and yelled, “Yes! Victory! JARVIS, mark today as the day I finally defeated Captain America!” Then Tony started—

Steve couldn’t see much from his position, but it seemed like Tony was dancing.

He sighed and closed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything to ruin Tony’s moment and even found his mouth twitching at Tony’s antics.

“Okay, okay, it’s out of my system now,” Tony said, happiness dripping from his words, and leaned down, winding his fingers into the netting and tearing the strands apart. At the surprised sound Steve made, he explained, “This was a last minute addition, so there are still a few kinks to work out. Trust me, trying to peel this off takes hours since they’re weighted and made to adhere to each other. It’ll be better next time.”

He helped Steve climb out.

“So best two out of three?” Tony asked and rose back into the air.

\-----

Two out of three became five out of seven and then nine out of eleven. By the end of the day, Steve was covered in paint—and he’d been wrong: paintballs stung—and wet and he kept finding leaves in interesting places. 

He hadn’t had so much fun in years.

The ride back to New York was much more relaxed then the morning one had been, helped probably by the way they’d sometimes look at each other and start snickering. He wasn’t the only one with paint streaks, and he’d even managed to get his handprint on Tony’s mask. In pink.

“Alright, I’m heading this way to clean up,” Tony said at the door, pointing in the opposite direction. “How do you feel about Indian for dinner?”

“That sounds good, thank you.” He looked down and then back, took one step away and then stopped. “Just . . . before you go . . . Tony, I—” He let out a huff of air and took off his cowl. This was something that was better done without any masks on his face.

Tony’s faceplate lifted. “What’s up?”

He looked over at the helicopter, but it was far away, and the pilot’s attention wasn’t on them. It didn’t stop him from feeling more than a little exposed. He took a fortifying breath.

“I thought of a safeword,” Steve said, feeling like an idiot for bringing it up out of the blue, but Tony had asked that he choose one, and for once, he didn’t want to wait before doing something Tony requested. 

“Yeah?” Tony said, and Steve could hear the caution in his voice.

“Yes.” He met Tony’s eyes. “Honor,” he said, because it took honor for Tony to offer one to Steve, to respect it—and Tony would; Steve believed him—and Steve wanted to acknowledge that. “It’s ‘honor.’”

Tony’s eyebrows had curved up, and the expression on his face was surprised and almost . . . hopeful. Although maybe Steve was reading too much into it. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. “Thank you for letting me know,” Tony said quietly. 

Steve nodded and tried to smile to cover his embarrassment, although it was more a quirk of his lips than anything else. 

“See you in a few minutes,” he said and went to clean up.

\-----

He dreamt of Tony again that night, but this time, Tony didn’t touch him, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t touch Tony either, could barely move at all. It was an odd dream, and Steve would’ve thought the inability to reach out would’ve been frustrating, but when he woke up, it was to a sense of safety of all things. Like nothing could hurt him. He lay in bed for a long time, unwilling to let go of that feeling of security, and when he closed his eyes, he saw Tony’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested, I am writing a Nostalgia AU that's a little less angst-filled if you want to check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2744759). Comments and kudos (for both fics) are much appreciated. <3


	12. Chapter 12

Something was different.

“Different how?” Pepper asked when he said as much, but Tony could tell from her tone that she wasn’t giving their conversation the consideration it deserved.

“Like strange how,” Tony said, and he picked up a screwdriver off his workbench, tapping it on the surface just to give his hands something to do.

“In what way?”

“Mmm, like . . .” He tried to think of a way of explaining things without resulting in Pepper laughing at him. “Like yesterday. Steve didn’t hit me.”

“ _What_?” 

“When we sparred,” he said quickly. “I mean, obviously he hit me some. It is fighting after all. But most it was all open palms, and Steve would stop a few inches away, and it was weird, Pep, weird.”

“Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood.”

“You’re trying to make it sound dirty.”

“Not really. Not if he wasn’t in the mood,” and yup, there was the laughter.

“I don’t even know why I called you,” he said, putting the screwdriver down and picking up a torque wrench in its place.

“Because Dr. Phil doesn’t take house calls?” She sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Tony. I mean, you’re complaining that Steve was trying to be nice. Man, what an asshole.”

“Yeah, so that’s another thing,” Tony said, and where was something to tighten when he needed it? “Steve’s been really polite recently.”

There was a brief silence. “Is he usually not polite? Because he’s always been polite whenever I’ve been around.”

“Okay, see, but there’s the normal polite, and there’s the ‘I’m going to be good even if it kills me’ polite, and he’s always leaned toward the second with me.”

“Maybe he’s finally coming around.”

“You say that, Pepper, but you’re not the one who has to live with him. Maybe what’s he’s actually doing is trying to lull me into a false sense of security, so that he can turn around and steal the schematics for the suit, sell them to the highest bidder, and then live out the rest of his life on his own private island surrounded by beautiful Doms eager to cater to his every whim!”

He was sure he could hear her rolling his eyes if he concentrated hard enough. “Uh huh. Look, Tony, none of this seems like a bad thing to me.”

He deflated. “I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Just weird.”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s a good weird.”

“I . . . suppose,” he said, and he wondered if he should reveal that Steve had smiled at him. Twice.

But no. That was too freaky.

He put the wrench down and started fiddling with some wiring.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Pepper asked when the silence kept dragging on.

“Funny you should ask me that question,” Tony said, and this was the very reason he’d opted for a voice-only call. It wasn’t that he felt more comfortable telling her when he didn’t have to see her reaction; just slightly less _un_ comfortable. “I may have indicated to Steve . . . that I, uh—that I was . . .” He tried to think of the best way to phrase it. “ That there might be . . .”

“Spit it out, Tony.”

“That I might be . . . sexually interested. In him.” He winced.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

He started walking around the lab as he waited for her to come to terms with the news. Maybe he should build another suit. Designing new suits was very calming.

“So what did he say?” she asked at last, her voice hushed, and he had her full attention now.

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Nothing?”

“He said, ‘I see.’”

“Oooh. Ouch.”

“I mean, it wasn’t a bad ‘I see.’ More of a confused ‘I see,’ so really not an ‘I see’ so much as a ‘I don’t see at all.’”

“And he hasn’t said anything since then?”

“Nope.”

“Well, when did you tell him.”

“Um, two days ago.”

“Ah. So now I’m beginning to understand why something being different is a little weird.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” he said and took a few whacks at the training dummy since it was there.

“The fact that he’s being nicer to you has to be promising, though, right? Maybe he’s trying to let you know that he’s interested in your interest.”

“Or maybe he’s trying to let me down easy.”

“No, I mean, he might not have responded yet, but if he weren’t interested at all, he’d say something.”

“Would he? Maybe he feels like he has to hold up his end of the contract or something.” He let his head thunk against the dummy. 

“Tony—”

“I didn’t even mean to tell him! It was an accident.”

“How do you accidentally tell someone you’re attracted to him?”

“We had this argument—and then he said—and then I said—and now he probably feels pressured to—”

“He’s a grown man, Tony; he knows he can say no.”

“You’d think so, but he didn’t even know about safewords, Pepper! I told him he should pick a safeword, and he didn’t even realize they could be used non-sexually.” Tony sighed and walked over to the nearest chair, slumping down into it. “And he’s from the damn forties. Submissives’ rights were a joke back then. Is his idea of being able to say no the same as our idea of being able to say no?”

“That’s a . . . very good question,” Pepper said quietly.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here,” he admitted, and he was referring to more than just figuring out why Steve was acting differently.

“Well, maybe you should ask Steve.”

“Pepper—”

“No, really. I know this is a wild and crazy idea, but maybe instead of talking to me, you should be talking to Steve.”

“I’ve _tried_ talking to Steve.”

“Have you talked _to_ him, or have you talked _at_ him?”

Tony hesitated. “I’ve talked _with_ him.”

She let out what was probably the longest exhale known to man.

“He’s not exactly the most forthcoming person I’ve ever met!” Tony said defensively. “If it were up to him, we’d probably sit in silence, glaring at each other thirty percent of the time, avoiding each other’s eyes another thirty percent, and working out the last forty with breaks for eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom! I’m doing what I can!”

She didn’t say anything, but there was an obvious “Do more” hanging in the air, and he honestly couldn’t say if it was coming from him or her.

“Okay,” he said finally, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Okay.”

Before she could respond, the screen flashed with an alert for an incoming call. Fury. 

“Crap, I’ve got to take this, Pepper,” he said, sitting up.

“Alright. Just think about what I said, though.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

He took a deep breath before switching over, slapping on his most annoying grin as the screen filling with Fury’s face. “Well, if it isn’t the Commander of SHIELD himself. What can I do for you, Fury?”

“Stark. We have a situation.”

\-----

Steve wasn’t sure he understood everything Nick and Tony were telling him about the Tesseract, but he did understand one thing: it was a call to war. 

“No one’s forcing you to do this,” Nick said, and he seemed out of place standing in the middle of Tony’s living room, bright sunlight streaming in through the windows as he spoke of the potential annihilation of the entire human race. “But we could use your help.”

“Do I have a choice?” he asked, and it was a sincere question, even though Nick frowned at it. He was contracted to Tony. If Tony agreed, then Steve was obligated to go with him. Or at least, Steve assumed so. Contracted couples in the military were always kept together, but Tony wasn’t exactly a SHIELD employee. Still, Nick wanted them both in the Avengers, so as his Dom, Tony would have final say. 

Although, he thought, raising his eyes to meet Tony’s, maybe—maybe Tony was waiting on his opinion to give his decision? 

“Of course you do,” Nick said. “This isn’t the draft, and no one can deny that you’ve already served your country beyond what could be expected of anyone.”

“But if you’ve already asked Tony—”

“Ah, I see. Don’t worry. We’ve nullified the contract.”

“What?” he asked, because he couldn’t have heard what he thought he’d just heard.

Tony looked away.

“We’ve decided,” Nick said, glancing at Tony, “that it’d be better if the two of you weren’t in a fledgling contract in the middle of all of this. Too many complications, especially since we can’t guarantee that you’ll both be in the same location if there’s a firefight. Considering how high-profile this is going to be, the last thing we want to do is flaunt the law and then have NASR coming after us and the US government.”

Steve couldn’t seem to stop staring at Tony, no matter how many times he told himself to turn away. They weren’t contracted anymore? Tony wasn’t—he wasn’t his Dom?

But he’d thought—Tony had said he wanted—

“If you agree to join the Avengers Initiative, you’ll come in as an independent Sub.”

He tried to compartmentalize his thoughts. There was so much to take in, so many things he should ask about Loki and the Tesseract.

But what he said was, “And Tony?” because the need to know was too great. 

_“You want to be part of the Avengers Initiative, Stark, you’ll take Captain Rogers with you.”_

Nick had used Tony’s desire to be an Avenger to start all of this.

“What about him?”

Had Tony finally gotten what he wanted?

“Tony’s coming?” 

“Iron Man will be there.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“And afterward? Will I re-contract with Tony?” he asked, holding on to some twisted hope that there was another reason behind all of this, that Tony wasn’t getting rid of him the first chance he got. He’d promised himself he’d think better of Tony.

But Tony still wasn’t looking at him. 

“It’s illegal to re-contract with the same person within a year of breaking a contract,” Fury said, and it was all Steve could do to keep his expression from changing and show just how much of an impact his words had had on him. 

“However, we realize that would put you in the position of having to find a second Dom in an extremely short period of time. Since you didn’t want a Dom in the first place, I argued, and the President agreed, that due to the circumstances, as long as you meet with a SHIELD-approved therapist once every two weeks, you don’t have to take another Dom.”

No Dom. He wouldn’t have to contract with anyone else. It was what he’d originally hoped for.

Even if—

No. He couldn’t think of that.

“I’m in,” he said at long last, and why was it so hard to speak? He finally managed to force himself to look at Nick, because looking at Tony didn’t change anything. 

“Good,” Nick said. “Then let’s get going. We don’t have much time. Grab whatever you need, and I’ll meet you two on the roof,” he said and headed toward the elevator.

“Steve,” Tony said once he was gone, the first word he’d uttered since Nick had begun explaining how their contract was over.

He ignored him and headed toward his room—his old room—to pack. Tony wasn’t his Dom anymore. There was nothing left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, I know, but look how fast I posted it! >_>
> 
> So the events of this chapter probably come as a bit of a surprise, but I've been planning to incorporate the Avengers movie into this fic from day 1, and it's necessary for plot progression. Next chapter should cover the movie, and then we move on. I think. Not more than two chapters, definitely. Next update will probably take a bit longer since I'm going to busy all next week, but then I'll be back.


	13. Chapter 13

The next time they saw each other, Steve was on the ground, in the middle of getting his ass kicked by Loki. It wasn’t the way he’d hoped to see Tony again.

Not that he’d wanted to see Tony again.

He and Loki both looked up as music suddenly blared high above them, and then a blast of light threw Loki across the plaza. 

Iron Man landed and had all his weapons out and pointed at Loki seconds later. It made Steve think about water canons and paintballs, and his movements were jerky as he picked up his shield and stood next to Tony. 

“Mr. Stark,” he said, because he could be the bigger man and acknowledge Tony’s arrival and assistance, even if the words felt clumsy on his tongue. It’d taken him a long time to start calling Tony by his first name, but now that the transition had happened, it was much harder going back. 

“Captain,” Tony said, and that was all. That was it.

\-----

“Still, you are pretty spry, for an older fellow. What's your thing? Pilates?” Tony asked, and Steve knew there were other people watching and they were pretending to have never met, but it was jarring nonetheless. As if Tony didn’t know what Steve did to train.

“What?” 

“It's like calisthenics. You might have missed a couple things, you know, doing time as a Capsicle.”

It got worse from there. They argued. It was all they seemed to be able to do when they were together.

“You know damn well why, back off!” Steve said, knocking Tony’s hand off of his shoulder. Tony had never been one for casual contact. Steve wasn’t going to accept it now, especially not in some sort of gesture of camaraderie that didn’t exist.

“Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” Tony said, irritation coloring his voice, and Steve was glad. Was Tony upset that he didn’t want his support?

Good.

Funny enough, they had rarely argued when it was just the two of them, but here they were, acting like they were seconds away from going at each other’s throats. But there was something about having an audience—about having to play a _part_ —that loosened Steve’s tongue. That made him say things he would never have said before.

“Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?” he asked, using his height to loom over Tony.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony said calmly enough, but was there an edge to an answer, an emphasis on “philanthropist” that made Steve see red. Like he needed a reminder that Tony had taken him in for all the wrong reasons. 

_It’s not about wanting—_

_Shut up!_ he snarled at the voice in his head.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. Yeah, I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself,” he said, because the only reason any of this had happened was because Tony wanted into the Avengers, and here he was. “You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.” 

“I think I would just cut the wire,” Tony said, and this time, Steve was certain there was something in the way Tony answered that signified something more, although he wasn’t entirely sure what. 

“Always a way out . . .” he accused, rather than trying to decipher it, and he sounded derisive even in his own ears. “You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.” 

“A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!” Tony snapped, and it was all he could do not to flinch.

“Put on the suit,” he said, and he was so angry, rage heating his face and making his hands tremble. Steve knew that he shouldn’t let what Tony had get to him—that it wasn’t the time or the place—but it was Tony. And Tony had always been able to get under his skin. “Let's go a few rounds,” he said, and in that instant, he wanted to fight Tony; wanted to beat away his pain.

And then everything changed.

It started when Tony needed his help, depending on him to keep him safe while he fixed the engine. Tony trusted him with his life. It was . . . unsettling. 

It wasn’t as if there were many options. Everyone had a job to do, and there hadn’t been any time to argue about who should do what.

But he hadn’t even thought about it. He’d followed Tony and done what he’d said, and he hadn’t even thought about _not_ doing it. It had seemed so obvious at the time. Of course he would do what Tony needed him to do.

And then later, after Loki escaped, Tony couldn’t keep his mask in place, letting Steve glimpse exactly how much he mourned Coulson’s death. He’d never seen Tony so affected. He’d never seen Tony so vulnerable. 

Tony grieved, and Steve could feel his anger crumbling around him.

Everything happened in a rush after that, and he didn’t have the opportunity to focus on anything except the upcoming battle, except then—

“Stark, you know that's a one-way trip?” he asked Tony, his voice still clear by strength of will alone. Steve wanted him to stop, to turn around, to think of another way, even though they all knew there wasn’t one.

 _No_ , he thought. _Tony, no._

He wasn’t surprised when Tony didn’t answer, because what was there to say? But it hit him as he watched Tony get smaller how much it must have hurt Peggy to have him disappear the way he had, to be the one left behind and realize only at the end how much sacrifice war demanded of a person. How it kept taking and taking until there was nothing left to give.

“Close it,” he told Natasha, waiting as long as he could, but Tony wasn’t coming back. 

Tony was gone.

Trust Tony to do the impossible, however, and make it back in the nick of time.

He stood frozen when they realized Tony was falling, not flying down, and his legs nearly buckled when the Hulk was able to grab Tony in mid-air before rolling him to the ground. Thor reached Tony before he could, but he was the first to drop to his knees next to Tony, to press his ear against Tony’s chest and listen desperately for any sign of life.

And when he got it, when Tony opened his eyes and gasped for breath, he could barely react at all, relief so deep and heavy that it was all he could do to keep himself upright.

 _Tony_.

\-----

It was a long time before the six of them made their way back to SHIELD headquarters. Fury came to pick up Loki, and Thor went with them to ensure he didn’t try anything, but Steve saw Thor back in the streets soon after. He gave him a nod in acknowledgment, but there were too many still to do, too many people that were trapped or needed help, for him to stop and do more than that. It was hours later before they went to get food, and Steve would have preferred to just find a bed to collapse in, but Tony had asked, and even if none of the others had been willing to go, Steve wouldn’t have been able to deny him. 

Tony had nearly—

No. He wasn’t going to think about it. 

They were all quiet as they ate, and Steve couldn’t remember if he’d even enjoyed the shawarma, which turned out to be some kind of roasted meat, although he knew he’d had four helpings.

He felt exhausted down to his very bones, his thoughts cloudy and disjointed, but he was grateful for it, too tired to concentrate on anything, especially the person sitting across from him at the table.

Life really only came back into focus once they were finally back at SHIELD, Natasha and Clint leading the way in order to avoid reporters, and the quiet moments of savoring a job well done got lost under the barrage of questions as soon as they walked into the building. Where had they been? What had they been doing? Had they come across any living Chitauri? Was anyone hurt? 

They were corralled into the medical wing and separated into different examination rooms. Steve’s nurse was embarrassingly fervid in her thanks, as if he’d single-handedly saved the world, when in reality, he’d been one of the minor players. In the end, he managed to change the subject by asking her if he needed to change.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, blushing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to tell you how grateful we are that you—that all of you—were here to save us.”

He smiled politely, and it’d been his job to punch Hitler and sign autographs, but he’d never known what to say to people when it really mattered. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank _you_ , Captain,” she said, her voice hitching. She cleared her throat. “Now if you’ll just take off your clothes down to your underwear, the doctor will be in shortly.” 

He took a deep breath after she left, glancing around the room, which looked exactly like the last exam room he’d been in, and the one before that, and the one before that, with the possible exception of the art. Maybe.

He thought about the last time he had cause to be examined, and he grimaced, turning away from the memory, more for what had happened at the end than the beginning. It had been a turning point for him, when he’d first started thinking he might be able to trust Tony.

It turned out that it hadn’t been the wrong decision, not exactly. But he would have protected himself better if he’d known that this was where it would lead.

He’d either been taking a lot longer to get undressed than he’d realized, or the doctor had arrived exceptionally early, because it only felt like a minute or two later that he heard the knock on the door. He was still more in his costume than out of it, and he stood by sheepishly, expecting the door to open since he’d never met a doctor who’d waited for a “Come in,” but nothing happened.

He opened his mouth to say, “Hello?” but before he could get it out, he heard, “What are you doing?”

Tony. That was Tony outside Steve’s door. And he sounded pissed.

“Mr. Stark,” someone said. Steve’s eyebrows went up. That sounded a lot like—

“You’re not allowed to see Steve,” Tony said, and that was news to Steve. He wasn’t?

“I am aware,” the person who could only be Dr Reynolds said stiffly. “As soon as I realized whose chart I had—”

“Did you go in there?”

“I knocked, but—”

 _”Did you go in there_?” Tony growled, and Steve didn’t think his eyes could get any wider.

“I did not,” Dr. Reyolds snapped, but it was the voice of a man trying to salvage what little dignity he could.

“Good. Because that’s the only thing keeping me from delivering the thrashing of your life. Get out of here.” 

Dr. Reynolds went.

Steve waited, but Tony didn’t come in, didn’t even say anything to him through the door, and what? Did he think Steve hadn’t heard them?

And how had Tony noticed Dr. Reynolds in the first place? Out of all of them, he was the one who needed an exam the most. He couldn’t possibly be finished already, could he?

No. There hadn’t been enough time for a doctor to perform anything but the most superficial of tests. 

Maybe he’d accidentally caught Dr. Reynolds passing by just as his nurse was leaving the room? Except that would be quite the coincidence.

So what had Tony been doing?

And why did he care if Dr. Reynolds was the one to examine Steve or not?

He didn’t make a conscious decision to walk forward and open the door, but suddenly he was staring at Tony—a Tony who was no longer in the suit. Steve couldn’t stop himself from scanning him over, and although he looked tired and upset and there were a few bruises and scratches on him, that was all. 

Steve still felt a rush of relief at the visible proof Tony was okay, which he ignored in favor of grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside, slamming the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, flustered.

“What are _you_ doing?” Steve asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Me? I was just standing there, minding my own business—”

“How is which doctor I see any of your business?” Steve demanded, and Tony wilted a little bit.

“You heard that, huh?”

“Tony,” he said, and damn it, he’d meant to call him Stark. He plowed on anyway. “I think everyone on this entire floor could hear you.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“You’re not my Dom anymore,” Steve said, and he hadn’t meant to be cruel, but from Tony’s expression, he had been anyway. It left him floundering.

“I know that,” Tony said quietly.

“So then what are you doing?” he asked, his own voice much softer than it’d been a moment before.

“Just because we’re not in a contract anymore doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep the promises I made,” Tony said, and it took a lot more time and willpower than Steve would admit to for him to tear his eyes away.

“You never promised anything about Dr. Reynolds.”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe not to you, but to myself.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

“Look,” Tony said, rubbing his face, and Steve couldn’t read all the emotions on Tony’s face, but he could see the frustration, the regret, and for the first time, he understood Tony hadn’t made the decision to end their contract easily. A person didn’t look like _that_ because of someone he hadn’t cared about.

No, that was the face who _still_ cared. 

“I know I wasn’t your first choice, and I know there were things I could’ve—and should’ve—done differently. These past few days have been—and I acted like a shit, I know that. Although you weren’t entirely blameless yourself!” Tony said, glaring at Steve for a second before looking down. “But even when I fucked it up, I always tried to do what was best for you—”

“How was ending our contract like that best for me?” he asked incredulously, the words escaping before he could prevent them.

“What?” Tony asked, leaning back in confusion.

“Nevermind,” Steve muttered, shaking his head and turning away. “It’s not impor—”

“Steve,” Tony said, putting his hand on Steve’s arm, and just like the last time, Steve found himself flinging it away.

“You didn’t even ask me!” he burst out, and it was still there: the hurt and impotent rage from discovering his life had been turned upside down once again without any input from him. “I was right there! But you didn’t even give me a choice—”

“A _choice_?” repeated Tony. “What do you think this whole thing was about?” he asked, his voice getting louder. 

“You becoming a part of the Avengers,” Steve told him, and Tony wasn’t the only one who could shout. “And getting rid of a Sub you never wanted.”

“Is that—is that what you really think of me?” Tony asked, his voice cracking.

 _No_ , Steve thought—hoped—the once firm foundation of his assumptions made shaky by the defeat on Tony’s face. But the turmoil and anger of the past few days were too great to ignore, and what he found himself saying was, “Yes.”

Tony ran his hand over his mouth, and Steve felt his stomach swoop sickeningly when he noticed how unsteady it was. 

“Alright,” Tony said, his shoulders slumping. “Okay.”

“Tony—”

“When I first agreed to contract with you, being an Avenger was the carrot Fury dangled in front of me, but it wasn’t the reason I agreed. I’d grown up with you all my life,” he said, smiling weakly, “and I couldn’t let that go, no matter how much you hated me for it.”

“I never hated you,” he said softly, and it was unnatural seeing Tony without his usual energy, weary and broken down. He’d done that, Steve knew, but instead of feeling proud that he could accomplish such a thing, he felt uneasy. Anxious.

Tony nodded tiredly like he was humoring him. “I never forgot, though, how much you hated the idea of being with a Dom, and when Fury came to me, it was my one condition, that you were released from the contract. Not because I didn’t want you,” he said, and Steve suddenly heard in his mind “ _It’s not about wanting. It’s about doing what’s right_ ,” and he was already shaking his head in denial.

“But because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. Whether that was me, or being by yourself, or finding someone else, I wanted you to be able to decide for yourself.”

Steve swallowed, the floor rocking underneath him, and he couldn’t talk. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get even one word out of his mouth.

“You’re right, though,” Tony said, closing his eyes. “I should’ve asked you,” he said roughly, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so accomplished! Look how much writing I'm getting in! Hopefully, you guys like Tony a little better after this chapter. >_>
> 
> Many, many thanks to MetaAllu for reading this over.
> 
> Okay, so I left an A/N in Nostalgia AU AU, so I'll leave one here as well. I can only work on updating one fic at a time, so what I'm thinking is I'll work on updating the fic that gets the most comments/kudos when I post a chapter. I mean, I'll still try to update the other fic as well, but it won't get as much attention. But this way I'll know which fic readers are more excited about, because the more you guys are into a fic, the more I want to write it. And I won't say that Nostalgia AU AU is winning right now, but...
> 
> ETA: I forgot to mention that I took the movie lines from the Avengers script at imsdb.com.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously in the vote-off, this fic won. 
> 
> I am just so amazed by the response from you guys, and you really have no idea how much it means to me. Seriously, I just floated around for days, all swoony with feelings. Thank you.
> 
> That being said, I really dreaded writing this chapter. I didn't start it until a few days ago, and luckily, the muse was still cooperating, but for a while there, I was afraid this was going to be the beginning of another hiatus. >_>
> 
> As always, I want to thank MetaAllu for reading this over. <33
> 
> So, disclaimers. I have only been to see a psychologist once, so please take Steve's interactions with his psychologist with a grain of salt. Also, might as well throw this one in, I have never been in a BDSM relationship. I mean, I wouldn't mind having a sub on his knees at my feet, but as I don't want to leave my husband, that is probably never going to happen. I feel like I've warned about the BDSM thing before--if not in this fic, than in others--but for those of you who think I'm experienced in this, I'm really, really not. I am very interested in BDSM, however, but since I don't live the lifestyle, I will occasionally get things wrong. Hopefully that fact doesn't turn anyone off this fic, but if it does, then I understand.

_May_

He kept to the road for a long time, stopping wherever looked promising. He drove through national parks and visited out-of-the-way museums, ate in diners that ranged from quaint to just plain disgusting and tried a piece of blueberry pie that he would’ve cried over in different days, and it didn’t get better. 

He missed Bucky. Peggy. He missed the creaky step on the staircase to his room, and the smell of fresh-baked bread from Mr. Stevens’ bakery that would waft by when the wind was just right. He missed the ubiquity of hats, and the line on the back of women’s stockings, and all the familiar sights and sounds that he’d always taken for granted but were now gone.

He frequently found himself up at all hours of the night, and he took to running to make the time pass faster, finding the heavy thud of his feet on pavement thankfully mind-numbing. He probably should’ve tried to sleep more than he did, but it made him jittery to lie there with only his thoughts to keep him company, and he always ended up giving up sooner rather than later.

He preferred to not think. Not remember. And that worked for the most part, except for when it didn’t, and those days, he’d stay in his motel room and let the memories rush over him until he was strong enough to stuff them back into the lockbox in his mind.

It was always after one of those times, when he was already off-kilter, that thoughts of Tony would manage to sneak in. If Steve’s recollections of the past could be compared to an amputated limb, the pain radiating out from nonexistent flesh in flashes and bursts that drove him to his knees, then his memories of Tony were a freshly-taken wound that refused to even try to heal, open and bleeding him dry. 

_“Hey, watch this,” Tony said right before he dived towards the water below, barely pulling up before he got them both soaked._

_“I’m sorry,” Tony said as he stood between Steve and anyone else who might dare come into the examination room. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”_

_“Now bear with me for a minute,” Tony said, throwing his arms up into the air and starting to dance._

He didn’t know why his subconscious chose the good memories over the bad, but they’d appear over and over again, a filmstrip of might-have-beens that cut worse than even the look on Tony’s face the last time they’d been alone. When had Tony stopped being a means to end and become someone he actually wanted to be with? How could he never have realized how much he’d come to depend on him until after it was already too late?

Steve sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. He rubbed grainy eyes and then rolled out of bed in order to pack what few things he’d left out the night before.

His old life had been taken from him, and while Steve could rail and rage at that fact, there was no one left to blame. With Tony, however, all the fault was his own, and it ate at him, all the things he’d given up, and never seemed to stop. 

He hefted his bag and walked outside, looking at his motorcycle. He hadn’t exactly had anything in mind when he’d started his trip, other than a vague idea of finding _something_ —a reason for being here, or a reason to stay—but he hadn’t found it.

Maybe it was time to go home—

He took a slow, deep breath.

Maybe it was time to go back. Nick had said they could use him at SHIELD. He wouldn’t be wanted there, not like—not like before, but he’d be needed, and maybe that’d be enough.

\-----

_July_

“I’d like you to keep a journal.”

“Ma’am?” Steve said, turning away from the window to look at his psychologist. Dr. Leslie Saunders looked to be in her fifties, was always well-groomed, was a Sub, and she started and ended each of their sessions with a kind smile on her face. If Steve had met her in a coffee shop or sat beside her on the subway, he was sure he would’ve liked her. As it was, however, their conversations to date had been stilted and polite, and Steve had never said more than he had to, not because he was trying to be difficult, but because he didn’t know how he was expected to confide in someone who was paid by the hour to act like he was the most important person in the world—someone who was on SHIELD’s payroll besides, because how much privacy could she really guarantee?

“A journal,” Dr. Saunders said. “I wouldn’t read it—unless you wanted me to, of course. I think it would be a good way, however, to organize your thoughts and write down events that you find significant or noteworthy during the day.”

“Alright,” he said and went back to staring out the window.

\-----

_August_

“How are you doing today, Steve?” Dr. Saunders asked as he entered the room for his fifth session.

“Fine, thank you. And you?”

“I’m doing well.”

He nodded and sat down in his chair, eyes automatically glancing down at his watch. 

“Are you writing in your journal?”

“Yes,” he said, although he tended to draw more in the blank pages than write, simple doodles mostly, although he sometimes copied the skyline, or sketched an interesting face. Still, he put something down every day and that was really all she’d requested of him.

He knew she’d try to engage him soon on the chance that he’d either be more open to confiding in her than he’d been in previous sessions, or in the hopes that casual conversation would eventually lead to deeper revelations, and he resignedly waited for her to begin.

She smiled. “Do you mind if I catch up on some reading while you’re here?”

He raised his eyebrows. “No . . . I don’t mind.”

“Thank you!” She walked over to her desk and opened a drawer. “I spend most of my free time catching up on psychology articles, so I always feel behind on what’s going on in the world.”

She sat back down and opened her magazine with the cover blatantly on display. There was a grainy picture of Natasha and Clint firing from behind a car at several Chitauri, and across the top of the magazine were the words, _Who are the Avengers, and Where are They Now?_

His jaw clenched. Apparently, Dr. Saunders had decided subtly wasn’t working.

He turned towards the window and tensed each time he heard the rustle of a turning page, but he didn’t look back at her and only muttered a quick, “Good-bye,” when the timer went off, carefully pulling the door closed behind him so it closed with a near-silent _click_.

\-----

_September_

Two weeks later, she didn’t even bother to ask, pulling out a magazine that had been between her and the armrest of her chair as soon as they’d exchanged a greeting.

Steve told himself he wouldn’t look, and he didn’t for the first five minutes. Ten. Twenty.

His eyes strayed without his permission when she coughed, however, and even though he looked away immediately, it’d still been enough time to register that the cover had a picture of Tony on it.

It’d been over four months since he’d seen Tony face to face, and he found his gaze being dragged back inch by inch.

Tony looked happy, he thought wistfully, taking in the broad smile, the flamboyant spread of his arms. He was wearing a tuxedo, if the bowtie was anything to go by, and Steve wished he were closer so he could see details. 

Although maybe it was a good thing that he wasn’t. 

Tony’s companion was blonde, but her face was in profile and partially obscured, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was Pepper or someone completely different. He told himself that it didn’t matter either way. He didn’t believe it, though.

“Have you spoken to Mr. Stark—or any of the others since New York?” Dr. Saunders asked quietly.

“Don’t you already know?” he asked, looking down at his hands in his lap. They were clenched into fists, and he forced them to relax. 

“I know that Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton have come through the DC office,” she said, finally lowering the magazine. “I don’t know if you spoke with either of them, however.”

“You didn’t know Natasha and I were on a mission together?” he asked flatly. It’d been his third mission. Steve was much more comfortable with computers now, but the objective had required a level of expertise that he hadn’t achieved yet.

It’d been . . . it’d been good to see her. Tough if in its own way, because of all the associations she had for him, but still good.

“I have access to very limited mission data. In your case, I’ve chosen not to read it, and unless I get an alert that something requires my attention, I will continue to not read it.”

“Why?” he asked in a hard voice, raising his head.

“For a few reasons,” she said calmly, “but the most important are one, right now it matters less to me what actually happened than what you think happened; and two, trust has to be earned, and how can you possibly trust me if I’m going behind your back?”

Fairness made him point out, “That’s not actually what you’d be doing, though.”

“But it’s what you would feel like I was doing,” she said, and the corner of his lips came up in reluctant acknowledgement.

\-----

_November_

“What do you do in your free time, Steve?” Dr. Saunders asked, and Steve wondered if she knew how difficult a question it was for all that it seemed so simple. 

“I walk around the city a lot,” he said, purposefully relaxing his shoulders and keeping eye contact, because in the weeks since they’d switched from having one session every two weeks to having a session every week, he’d noticed how sharp her eyes could be. Steve had to admit—privately—that the move had helped. She’d started feeling less like a psychologist that he was required to visit twice a month and more like a person he happened to get together with every week, and the distinction made a big difference. “I listen to music, read, visit the museums, that kind of thing.”

She nodded slowly. “Are you meeting a lot of people?”

“Yes.”

“And do you keep in contact with these people?”

His eyes skipped away for just a second, but inwardly he sighed; she’d probably caught that. “Sometimes.”

“Do you have anyone who you’re in regular contact with on a social basis?” she asked, and her voice was horribly gentle.

Steve knew she was asking if he had anyone he would call a friend, and for just a moment, he thought about warm brown eyes and a brash smile, and then he shook his head.

“Are you lonely, Steve?”

He smiled without humor. “Isn’t everyone?”

She didn’t answer, just watched him steadily until he gave in.

“It doesn’t matter—” he began.

“It _does_ matter.”

“Why? Because of who I am?” he asked dismissively, and he had never regretted taking the serum, but sometimes he regretted what had resulted indirectly from it.

“Yes,” she said, and he started to turn away. “Not because you’re Captain America, but because you’re Steve Rogers, and you’re good, and you’re kind, and you don’t deserve to be lonely.”

He swallowed, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to say, “You don’t know me,” a thread of hoarseness running through his voice. It was ridiculous how affected he was by what she’d said.

“Not as well as I’d like, that’s true,” she said, and it was impossible to tear his eyes away from hers, “but I do know that much.”

\-----

_December_

“You seem antsy today.”

Steve glanced over to see Dr. Saunders looking at his leg, which had been bouncing and down.

“Sorry,” he said, stopping the motion.

“It’s alright. I’m not actually bothered by it, just curious what prompted it,” she said, an invitation to share.

He hesitated. 

After a moment, she said, “Christmas is coming up.”

He didn’t reply.

“Do you have plans for the holiday?” she asked, and he sometimes wondered if she asked him questions just to hear him admit that he was a failure.

“Not yet,” he said tightly.

“Do you think you’ll go anywhere?”

“No.”

“There’s not anyone you want to see?” she asked, pushing, always pushing.

“There’s no one who wants to see me,” he said harshly, and stood up, walking to the window. He’d become very familiar with the view outside, although he’d been depending less on it in the past couple of months.

“Are you sure about that?”

He laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “Yes.”

“Not even Mr. Stark?”

He closed his eyes, his heart recoiling from the ache that always came with hearing Tony’s name. _Not now_ , he thought desperately and ignored the voice that whispered, _Then when?_

“No.”

“You never did explain why the two of you chose to go your separate ways.”

Steve shook his head jerkily, side to side. He had no intention of telling her now either.

He didn’t hear her sigh, but he could imagine it. He knew he wasn’t the easiest of patients.

“Were you happy with Mr. Stark?” she asked at last, and it would’ve been a lie to say yes. 

He couldn’t truthfully answer no either, however.

“Tony was good to me,” he said and left it at that. 

“Is that why you chose to contract with him? Because you knew he would be a good Dom?”

“I didn’t _choose_ him,” he said turning to glare at her, and she could claim to not read his mission reports, but there was no way that she didn’t know that much. 

_I wanted to give you the freedom to—_

_Not now_! he thought again, and this time, he managed to shove his memories where they belonged.

“The person I _chose_ didn’t want me, and Tony was the only Dom left!”

“You mean Ms. Peggy Carter.” Dr. Saunders looked back at him, expression as serene as ever, and he hated it. “Did you know she lives here in D. C.?”

“What?” he asked and had to reach out a hand to brace himself against the wall.

“I have her address here coincidentally. Would you like it?” she asked politely, as if she were offering him a glass of water instead of turning his world upside down.

It took him a moment, but he finally asked, “Why?” his voice raw. Why was she doing this?

“Because,” she said and then paused. It was the first time he’d ever seen her uncertain. “Because you deserve to know.”

\-----

“Good afternoon, Steve.”

“Hello,” he said, slowly settling into his chair. “I’m sorry about canceling last week.”

“It’s alright,” she said, looking at him sympathetically. “It happens.”

“I went to see Peggy,” he said after a bit.

“Did you?”

“She was—” He took a deep breath. His hands were shaking. “No one told me she was sick.”

“As I understand it, she didn’t originally want you to know. I believe it was a fairly recent diagnosis.”

“Yes,” he whispered and curled his fingers until his nails were pressed into his palms. 

“Are you planning to go back?”

His eyes snapped up. “To visit Peggy? Of course I am!”

“I’m glad,” Dr. Saunders said, and Steve deflated, his shoulders slumping. 

“Are you alright, Steve?” she asked when a few minutes had passed and he still hadn’t moved.

He shook his head slowly, his voice barely audible when he said, “No.”

\-----

_January_

“How was your Christmas, Steve?”

He thought of his apartment, filled with more things than he’d ever owned before in this life but still empty all the same.

“It was quiet.” 

“Did you end up going anywhere?”

“I spent some time with Peggy,” he said, remembering how her eyes had sparkled from the Christmas lights hung up in her room as they’d listened to music. “Her relatives picked her up for Christmas, though.”

“And for New Years?”

“I watched the ball come down on television.” He glanced away. “There was one on Stark Tower this year—bigger, of course, than the one in Times Square. Tony did always like to put on a show.” 

“Was Mr. Stark on TV?”

“He didn’t—” Steve tried to smile. “I wondered if he’d make an appearance, but he never did. Not once all night long.”

“Why did you want to see him?”

“I just thought—” He coughed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know really. I just wanted to.”

“Do you miss him?”

He laughed at the question. “So damn much,” he said and had to take a shaky breath.

\-----

_February_

“—and then Nick dissolved our contract, and you know the rest,” Steve said, and he had tried to keep his tone as dispassionate as possible, but he hadn’t done as well as he would’ve liked. It was the first time he’d ever told anyone about his time with Tony, and it’d been both harder and easier than he would’ve thought. Easier because he’d wanted to tell someone the story, and harder because even if he hadn’t said everything explicitly, it was painful remembering all the things he’d done wrong.

_Is that what you really think of me?_

_No_ , he thought, even though it was a lie, just like he’d lied every time before that when he’d promised he’d start believing in Tony. It had never happened, and now there were no more chances.

“What made you agree to the dissolution?” she asked compassionately, and he frowned at her.

“I didn’t agree,” he said, and apparently he hadn’t made himself clear. “Nick and Tony nullified the contract. I only found out about it after it was done.”

“Steve,” she said, setting down her notebook. “They can’t just void your contract. You would’ve had to give permission to revoke it unless Mr. Stark wanted to be in breach, which would leave him open for litigation.”

“What?” he asked faintly.

“Did you sign anything, releasing Tony from the contract?”

“No.”

“Then you two were still contracted during the Battle of New York.”

“We were?” he asked, and that—

What was he supposed to do with that? What could he do? Did it even matter now? Why hadn’t he thought to question what Nick and Tony told him? Why had he blindly accepted what they told him? “It doesn’t change anything, though, does it? I mean, the contract was only for three months.”

“True, but if part of the terms were that you lived with Mr. Stark, but then you went your separate ways after—”

“What if he offered, though?” Steve said, leaning forward in his seat. “The next day, when everyone was leaving, Tony said I always had a place with him if I wanted it. Would he still be in breach if I didn’t take him up on it?”

“I would imagine so since he misinformed you about the state of your contract in the first place, which lead to your refusal.”

He didn’t correct her assumption that he’d turned Tony down because he thought they weren’t contracted anymore—at least, that wasn’t the only reason. More important than their legal status was that he couldn’t stand to be around Tony, knowing that he didn’t belong to him anymore, that he didn’t _deserve_ to be with Tony anymore. That had been why he’d left.

“So what does this mean?” he asked, his stomach churning.

“What do you want it to mean?” she asked, and it was like a dam breaking, the tidal wave of emotions that crashed through him at her question that he’d been so desperately holding back for the past ten months.

_It’s not about wanting._

Once, he hadn’t known what he wanted, had heard Tony imply that he might have feelings for him but had denied it as some sort of mistake right after. It’d been a cold comfort to him that he’d never heard the words outright from Tony. 

But now—

Still. Ten months. So much could change in ten months. 

He’d already let almost a year go by without Tony in his life, though. He knew could do it, but as far as wanting to—

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Dr. Saunders said. “We can walk through it.”

No, Steve thought. This was one decision he didn’t need her help with.

He’d already had what felt like an eternity to figure out what he should’ve said, the things he should’ve done, and all the fear, all the what-ifs didn’t matter. There was just one answer.

Tony. He wanted Tony.

\-----

Tony frowned when he heard the muted hum of the elevators. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and JARVIS hadn’t announced anyone coming up.

“JARVIS, who’s in the elevator?”

No answer. 

“JARVIS?” He started to tense, wondering if he could reach the cuffs—cuffs and _not_ bracelets, no matter what Pepper said—to call the MARK VII to him, but then the doors opened.

“Hello, Tony,” Steve said quietly, and Tony stared.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is all hand-wavey law, so be warned.
> 
> Also, all the thanks to MetaAllu for the help on this chapter. Just all of them.
> 
> Finally, I just have to say I'm so impressed with myself for how much I've been writing recently. I've posted probably 12-15K in the last few weeks, which is awesome. More impressive, however, is how so many of you guys have stuck with me and this fic through the feast and the famine. Thank you.

“Steve,” he said. At least he thought he did. He wasn’t quite sure. “What are you—?”

 _What are you doing here?_ It was what he wanted to ask, but what was the point? Steve would tell him soon enough. This wasn’t a social visit, after all. Steve was a full-fledged member of SHIELD now. Maybe there was another whacko trying to take over the world. Or maybe Fury was hoping Steve could convince him to get back into weapons design. Fury knew Tony had a soft spot for him. It had to be something important for them to send the big guns in, whatever it was.

So instead he asked, “What are you in the mood to drink?” and headed for the bar, because even if Steve didn’t want one, he sure as hell planned on having something. 

“Tony.”

Nope, he was definitely not ready for that serious of a tone, and he ignored him in favor of going behind the counter. What to drink; what to drink?

“ _Tony_.”

Screw it. He grabbed the closest bottle.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked, pulling the cork out, and he made the mistake of looking up at Steve. Fuck. He looked good. Healthy. Time away from Tony had obviously agreed with him.

“That we were still contracted back then.” Steve took a few steps into the living room. “Why did you let me think you and Nick had terminated our contract?”

“We did terminate the contract,” Tony said and apparently they had some old business to clear up first before they got down to the real stuff. Fine, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do than relive an extremely painful period of his past. 

Steve appeared frustrated. Bully for him. “I didn’t agree—”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“We terminated it on the grounds that you didn’t give proper consent and therefore couldn’t be bound by the terms of the contract.” He decided glasses were for pussies. Who needed glasses anyway? He took a long swig of scotch.

“But I did—”

“ _Proper_ consent. Nick pressuring you into signing isn’t the same thing.”

“What?” Now Steve looked upset. Frustration turning to anger, and it seemed like the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. “Then how were we ever in a contract in the first place?”

“Because we were both willing to ignore it.” He gave the bottle a swirl before tipping it back for another mouthful. He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt. “Because the alternative was what you were trying to avoid in the first place,” he said, and it was a sharp reminder that Steve might be a card-carrying member of SHIELD now, but there’d been a time when they’d done what they could to throw him to the wolves—even if the wolf, in this case, had been Tony.

Fuck, why was Steve here? Tony had been doing quite well not thinking about him, could go weeks without remembering how he’d looked when he’d been glaring at Tony for one reason or another, or beating his demons into submission in the gym. What gave him the right to walk back into his life now?

“I didn’t sign anything—”

“Just a technicality.” Ah, sweet alcohol. It was one thing in his life he could always depend on. “Fury’s provided me with a chain of documentation that shows you didn’t want a Dom. It might get him in trouble since he was your Negotiator, but I doubt you’d press charges in the first place, and considering the circumstances, they’d probably just think he’d been overzealous and leave it at a slap on the wrist since things turned out the way they did. Still, the documentation would hold up in court, although considering who you are, if you’d told any judge that you wanted out of a contract, they’d—”

“I never said I wanted to break our contract,” and there something in Steve’s voice that made Tony pause but only for a second.

“Maybe not in so many words, but your actions were clear enough.” He gave him a flat smile. “Sure you don’t want any?” he asked, wiggling the bottle in the air.

“When did you start drinking so much?”

“You know what? You’re not my Sub anymore,” he said, an echo of what Steve had once said to him, “so you don’t get to ask that question.”

“Tony,” Steve said, and he had no right to look like that, all surprised hurt and disappointment.

“Why are you here?” Tony asked, his patience gone, and he didn’t even care that he was the first one to blink. He just wanted Steve to say whatever it was he’d come to say and then leave.

“I just . . .” 

“You just what?” Tony snapped, when Steve didn’t say anything else.

Steve took a breath, and his shoulders straightened. “I wanted to see you, Tony.”

He wanted—

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

Tony tried to cover his momentary lapse with a laugh. “So what, you were in the neighborhood and decided to drop in? Why are you _here_?” he asked again, slamming down the bottle, hard enough that a few drops of scotch came flying onto his hand. What the hell kind of game had Steve and Fury concocted? He would never have thought Steve would stoop to emotionally manipulating someone to gain the upper hand, but he’d obviously been wrong. “What does SHIELD want now?”

“I’m not here for SHIELD,” Steve said, which just infuriated Tony even more.

“So then why?” he demanded.

“I told you: I wanted to see you. I . . . I miss you, Tony.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “Excuse me if I find it hard to believe that nearly a year after you go off into the wild blue yonder, you decide you want to catch up on old times.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me back. I was trying to respect that,” Steve said, all wounded eyes, and bullshit. Bull. Shit.

“Respect what? You were the one that walked away!”

“That’s not what happened—”

“I told you you had a choice, and you left!” Tony said, and fuck, the alcohol had maybe not been a good decision after all. 

He wrenched his emotions under control. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t. 

His made his voice purposefully mocking when he said, “And then you don’t call; you don’t write.”

“Tony,” Steve said, and there’d been a time when Tony would’ve paid any amount of money to hear that much emotion in his voice.

“What do you _want_?” he said, and he was so tired of this. 

“You,” Steve said quietly, and Tony gaped at him before shaking his head in disbelief. He walked by him, shouldering him aside in order to get to the elevator. He didn’t look back.

\-----

That . . . could’ve gone better, Steve thought and decided that since Tony had left, it wouldn’t be bad for him to sit down.

His hands were trembling.

Steve hadn’t known how Tony would react to seeing him again. There’d been a part of him that had foolishly hoped Tony would be glad, and even though he hadn’t actually expected that to happen, he hadn’t fully managed to convince himself that it wouldn’t either. It was how he would’ve felt if Tony had visited him.

The anger, however, had taken him by surprise. 

He’d known that he’d messed things up. He’d been confrontational, had used Tony to vent his frustrations on, had taken Tony and all his consideration for granted, and had promised to try to trust Tony, only to fail over and over again. He’d known that he’d wronged Tony in a number of different ways.

He’d never once, however, thought he’d hurt Tony this much. 

Steve had come back to New York with the idea of demanding he and Tony finish out their contract, of letting the threat of litigation—even though he would never have gone through with it—hang over Tony’s head if he didn’t comply. That plan had been thrown out the window almost immediately, because the Tony who’d greeted him would’ve fought, wouldn’t have hesitated to drag both their names through the muck rather than give in.

It had been a stupid idea anyway, a way for him to avoid having to make himself too vulnerable. Dr. Saunders had helped him realize that he always kept people at a distance, protecting himself and minimizing any potential to get hurt. He’d nearly done that again with Tony, habit and fear dictating his actions, and he’d only barely managed to stop himself, choosing instead to be frighteningly honest. 

Not that Tony had believed him.

He couldn’t blame him for it, though. If caring about a person was the trust that he wouldn’t hurt you, or if he did, he’d do his best to not hurt you more than you could bear, Steve had already shown Tony he didn’t deserve his affection.

He wanted to, though. If Tony would let him.

He put his head in his hands and settled down to wait.

\-----

Tony sighed when the elevator doors opened. “You’re still here.”

Steve rose to his feet, and fuck, Tony had no idea how a guy that was both taller and wider than he was could manage to look like a kicked puppy.

“Do you . . . want me to leave?”

The thing was that Tony didn’t. He didn’t want Steve gone, and that made him one of the most masochistic Doms to ever walk the face of the earth, because the last time Steve had invaded his life, things hadn’t gone well for him.

He remembered what Pepper had told him when this had all started, that he’d have to scene with Steve because “...who better to be his first than someone who already loves him?”

Like an idiot, he’d denied it, and she’d told him he might not be in love with Steve Rogers yet, but he’d been in love with Captain America for years.

Somewhere in all the mess of Loki’s arrival, though, that had changed. Maybe it’d been Steve looking at him like he couldn’t stand to be around him, or knowing he wasn’t going to see him again, hell, maybe it’d been seeing him walking away for good, but Tony had realized he’d done it. He’d fallen in love with Steve. 

And Steve hadn’t known, and even if Tony had bothered to tell him, it wouldn’t have mattered. Steve had been dead set on hightailing it out of there, and he hadn’t thought twice about leaving Tony behind.

Now he was back, though, acting like no time had passed at all and offering things Tony had made himself forget he’d ever wanted.

The smart thing to do would be to have Happy put Steve on the private jet, ship him back to D.C. as fast as he could and forget the whole day had happened.

That’d be the smart thing.

He’d thought he’d been getting better, but the idea that Steve had left—again—that Tony would be coming back to an empty apartment, had filled him with panic. He’d made himself wait for as long as he could, but once he’d given himself permission to head back, he’d all but run to get here and hadn’t even asked JARVIS if Steve was still around, because he’d needed that deniability for just a little longer.

So, no, even knowing what was going to happen, what agreeing to Steve was going to do to him, he didn’t want Steve to go. But it’d never been up to him, had it?

“I’m not signing another contract,” he said, as if he had control over any of it.

“Alright,” Steve said, looking hopeful enough to break Tony’s heart all over again.

“And if I find out that you’re lying about why you’re here—”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t do that to you, Tony,” Steve said, taking a step closer, and he was going to ruin him when he left again. Tony already knew it. “I missed you. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

But why now? Tony wanted to ask. What had prompted Steve to come back to New York nearly a year later? If he’d really missed him so much, why hadn’t he missed him before? Where had he been when Tony had needed him?

He cleared his throat, swallowing loudly. 

“Okay. Then we’ll . . . try this out for a while. See if . . .” He trailed off. “Look, so I’ve got some things I was working on that I need to wrap up. You, uh, know where everything is, so I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Tony,” Steve said, stopping him before he could make a clean get-away. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I told you there’d always be a place for you here,” he said, remembering he’d told Steve that right before he’d gotten on his motorcycle and driven away. “G’night.”

“Goodnight,Tony,” Steve said somberly, and that was that.

\-----

It was hours later before he swung by the living room again, long past the time he would’ve expected Steve to be awake, which was why he was so surprised to find him sitting on the couch, reading.

“What are you doing still up? Did you need something?”

“Yes,” Steve said, closing his book and placing it face down on the coffee table. “I didn’t get the chance to complete rule six yet.”

“Rule six?” He raised his eyebrows, because he remembered exactly what rule six was. “That was a long time ago—”

“But . . . I mean, even if we don’t have a contract, the rules are still in place, aren’t they?” Steve asked, looking worried, and Tony knew how important rules could be, especially for new Subs, so while he hadn’t actually intended to revisit their old rules, he found himself nodding in agreement anyway.

“Then I’m still supposed to tell you one thing I want every day.”

Crap, he was getting a bad feeling about this. Why had he instituted this stupid rule in the first place?

“Yeeeees,” he said at last.

“Then,” Steve said, taking a deep breath, and Tony found himself matching it, “I want you to punish me.”

“What?” he asked after a pause, sure he’d heard wrong.

“I want a punishment,” Steve said, and Tony could take some satisfaction out of how uncomfortable Steve appeared as he said it, but only a little.

“Why?”

“Because I hurt you,” Steve said, looking down.

“Steve—”

“More than once. And I never meant to, but I did it anyway, and I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not one fucking word.

“Please,” Steve said quietly.

“You realize—” He coughed and tried again. “Do you even realize what you’re asking for?”

“Yes.” Steve raised his chin. “I’ve done some research.”

“Research,” he repeated disbelievingly. “Well, that’s great, but—we never really talked about discipline before.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t think that should be something we discussed before you asked?” he said, his voice rising. “We might have completely different ideas about what’s appropriate—”

“You already know what I agreed to.” At his blank look, Steve said, “Even if you don’t want to sign a new contract, Tony, that doesn’t mean you can’t reference our old—”

“What? Our old contract? The one you signed under _duress_?” Steve had to be joking. He couldn’t actually think Tony thought that contract had been worth the paper it’d been printed on. “I barely referenced that contract when we were in it; why the hell would I want to use it now?”

Steve faltered. “You didn’t?” he asked, and Tony had no idea how to read his expression.

“No!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve,” Tony said, and Steve nodded jerkily.

He let out a long breath. “Look, I’m going to—”

“I still want a punishment,” Steve said, and if anything, he sounded more determined than he had before.

Fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Even if it means I decide to whip you?” he asked, closing the distance between them. “Or make you stand in the corner wearing nothing but your birthday suit until you fall down? Or dress you up in something pink and frilly and take all kinds of pictures of you?”

Steve’s eyes were huge. But his voice was steady when he said, “Yes.”

Tony waited and waited, but Steve never looked away.

“Are you crazy?” he burst out. “I’m not going to fucking punish you for—I’m not that kind of Dom, alright? I don’t do that.”

“I want you to, though—”

“Do you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, if it’s for you, then we can talk about it. If you seriously think I should hurt you somehow because you-you hurt me and that not punishing you will actually make it worse instead of better, then you can tell me that. But if it’s for me,” he said, his expression softening without permission, “if you think this will somehow make _me_ feel better, then I don’t want it.”

And there were those damn puppy eyes again. “Tony,” he said, and Tony could tell he wasn’t going to let it go.

“There is something you can do for me, though,” he said, and what the hell was he doing? This was a stupid idea.

“Whatever you want, Tony.”

Tony sighed. “Not just what I want, Steve. It’s about what you want too.”

Steve nodded hesitantly.

“So if you don’t like it, you can safeword. Do you have a safeword you want to use?”

“Honor,” Steve said, and fuck, it hit him just as hard as it had the first time Steve had told him.

“Alright, ‘honor’ it is,” he said and had to clear his throat. “Close your eyes.”

He had to hand it to Steve, Tony thought wryly as he got into position. He didn’t even flinch.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked after they’d been standing there for a good twenty seconds.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Hugging me,” Steve said, making it into a question.

“Bingo.”

“But—”

“Are you saying your safeword?”

“No,” Steve said hesitantly. “But . . . this isn’t . . .”

“If you want to say your safeword, you can.”

“No,” Steve said, quiet but surer this time.

“Then shut up and take it.”

Tony stopped keeping track of the time and let Steve’s warmth start to seep into him. Steve was surprisingly comfortable to hold—although he supposed Steve could’ve been the world’s worst hugger, and he wouldn’t have minded. 

He hadn’t ever expected to get this. And now that he knew what it felt like to hold Steve, it would just hurt that much more later.

What else could he have done, though? Honestly, what had Steve expected? No Dom worth his salt would’ve punished Steve for not feeling the same way, as if a person could force someone to love him. It didn’t work that way.

Steve had needed something, though, and heaven help him, Tony had wanted to give it to him.

Steve just didn’t get it. Pepper had been right: Steve still needed him. His first Dom. He needed someone that he could reasonably trust, and after enough time and distance, he’d decided his best bet was Tony. That was all this was. Steve had found a shiny new bicycle and decided to go around for a while with the training wheels on. Once he was comfortable, those training wheels would come right off, and then Steve would leave again.

Until then, Tony would do his best, and when it was over . . .

Well, he’d deal with it then.

“Hug me back, damn it,” he rasped, and Steve did, wrapping his arms around Tony with a shudder and curving into him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, and Tony tensed but didn’t move away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over again, and Tony let it wash over him, keeping it for later.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MetaAllu for letting me bounce this off him. <3

“Come here,” Tony said when he saw Steve the next morning. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, thoughts going too fast to ever properly settle, but he felt better than he had in a while. Things between him and Steve weren’t ever going to be what he wanted them to be, but they could still be good. After all the shit that had gone on and all the mistakes, they were finally on the same page, and yeah, Steve was going to leave again—in a few weeks, a few months, soon, whenever it was. In the meantime, however, Tony was going to do his best by him, and he was determined to leave his mark on Steve, just like Steve had left one on him.

“Yes?” Steve asked, uncertain, but he came over, and Tony smiled reassuringly at him. This was the first step, getting Steve to be comfortable around him. They wouldn’t get anywhere if Steve was nervous. 

“I would like another hug,” Tony said, keeping his tone easy and wondering if Steve would balk or if he’d be receptive to the idea.

Steve’s eyes searched his for a second, and while he didn’t smile, his expression turned surprised and pleased, and he said, “Alright,” leaning forward to take Tony into his arms. 

Tony slid his own arms around Steve at the same time, one hand spread across the middle of his back, the other clasping Steve’s opposite shoulder. He squeezed Steve, a quick pulse, and then just stood there, gently rubbing up and down Steve’s spine. 

The hug was different from the one last night, Steve holding him carefully, grip firm but not tight and without the desperation from before. There was almost a little too much control involved, as if Steve were deciding how much pressure he should use and where the best placement of his hands should be, and hey, it wasn’t like Tony could complain since he was doing the same thing—he was just less obvious about it. Still, it kind of amused him, because Steve was an A hugger, his arms high across Tony’s shoulders and back with plenty of space in between their lower torsos, and it was an awkward way to stand for long periods of time.

Luckily, Tony had no problem letting Steve carry more than his fair portion of their weight, and it really wasn’t too bad.

“Tony?” Steve said after a while, and Tony blinked back the half-daze he’d fallen into. He’d actually started resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, but damn, Steve felt amazing.

“Hmm?” he replied, as if he didn’t know what Steve was really asking. He could feel Steve quiver with indecision—why wasn’t Tony letting go? Should he say something? How long should a hug last?—and he hid a smile.

“Oh, you must be hungry!” Tony said, extricating himself, and he ignored how empty his arms felt now that they weren’t holding Steve anymore. “Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

Steve didn’t ask any of the questions he no doubt had as he followed along, but that was fine. Tony knew he’d figure it out pretty quickly, or he’d ask, since Steve wasn’t exactly shy when it came to demanding the answers he wanted, but until then, Tony would enjoy Steve’s bemusement while he could.

Which turned out not to be that long, as Steve seemed to catch on a little more than twenty four hours and two hugs later. It was always Tony asking for them and Steve the one to pull away, and that one was no different, except Steve moved back almost immediately, no doubt testing his hypothesis. But all Tony did was smile and ask if he wanted bacon or sausage with his eggs. Steve gave him a weighing look before choosing sausage, but Tony noticed Steve stopped acting confused during their hugs, and none of them were ever that brief again.

They didn’t talk about it, and maybe that was a bad thing or maybe not, but he wanted Steve to know that he could count on Tony’s affection, and not only that, he could take as much or as little as he needed. Tony wasn’t on any kind of schedule—well, the hugs were, one in the morning before breakfast and one at night before bed, but other than that. He was busy all the time, but only because he liked being busy, so if Steve wanted five minutes or ten—not that they ever lasted that long, but they could—then Tony was more than happy to give it to him.

Out of the two of them, it was Steve who had a time crunch now. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take some more days off?” Steve asked, even though he was already dressed and getting ready to head in for his first day at SHIELD headquarters.

“Yes, because it’s so exciting for you to lounge around here.” 

“I don’t mind. I like . . . it here,” Steve said, a small pause in his words, but it wasn’t long enough for Tony to think he wasn’t being honest. Tony had never had a hard time keeping people entertained, and furthermore, it wasn’t like before. Back then, Steve hadn’t been working, they’d been newly contracted, and Tony hadn’t known how much Steve really wanted to interact with the modern world. Now, however, Steve choosing to stay at Stark Tower had to be because he wanted to and not because it was the only option available to him.

“Well, sure, what’s not to like?” Tony said, winking and spreading his arms. “But you should still go into work.”

It meant a lot to him that Steve was willing to give them the time to get back into some kind of groove, but Steve had obligations: a team of his own and deadlines. He had a network outside of Tony, and truthfully, Tony was glad for it. He hadn’t liked the isolation of their previous time together, and the fact that it wasn’t an issue anymore took a load off his mind.

Besides, after all of this was over, Steve would appreciate not having put the rest of his life on hold just to be with Tony.

Of course, he didn’t feeling quite so charitable about SHIELD a few days later when Steve told him he had a three-day mission less than a week into their arrangement.

“Three days, huh?” he said, and rationally he knew that a move from D. C. to New York wasn’t actually a very big one; and that if Fury had a problem with Tony and Steve being together, he would never have bullied them into a contract in the first person; and that Steve had been the one to come to him, looking to start again. 

But. 

Steve had been living with him for less than seven full days, and he was already going to be gone for that long? What if Fury were behind the timing? What if he’d been invested in getting them together before but had subsequently changed his mind? What if tried to convince Steve to go back? Or worse yet, what if Steve had decided he needed some time to think? What if he was reevaluating his decision?

Maybe Tony had been taking things too fast. Or maybe he’d been taking them too slowly. Steve was in his early twenties—plus or minus seventy years—and what if he’d been assuming they were going to jump into sex? Tony knew he had a reputation, well-deserved at that, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had been interested in him because of the things he could do for them. In Steve’s case, Tony had already figured out Steve was looking for someone to show him the ropes, and maybe he was getting frustrated by the speed they were going. Fuck, had he been worrying about getting Steve comfortable enough to hug him on his own when Steve had been hoping for a good beating and being thrown over the back of the couch?

“I know it’s sudden,” Steve said, and the apologetic expression on his face went a long way in curbing Tony’s more panicked thoughts. “Some new intel came in, and if we don’t go now—”

“You’re leaving now?”

“In an hour,” Steve said, grimacing, and okay, shit, Tony could do this.

Actually, no, he had no idea how to be the supportive but left-behind Dom, because that was not generally a position he’d ever found himself in. Still, he could at least say, “Be safe,” and pull Steve forward in to a real hug, bodies touching from their heads down almost to their feet. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Steve gave a quick inhale at his words, and when Tony would’ve moved away, Steve kept him there as if it were his right, which, that had been what Tony had been trying to teach him, so, fair.

“Before I go,” Steve said, and that wasn’t distracting at all, having Steve speak right next to his ear, “I want . . .”

He could hear Steve swallow.

“May I have a kiss?” he asked, his voice steady.

And that whooshing sound had been all of Tony’s thoughts flying out the window. 

Okay.

So Steve wanted a kiss. Steve had _asked_ for a kiss.

Because he was sorry to go? Because he was saying goodbye? What? 

Shit, Tony had no idea.

Did it matter though? Well, it would. Tony already knew he’d pick apart every second of this conversation later. Still. Steve had asked.

There was no way in hell Tony would say no.

“It would be my pleasure.” He waited until Steve leaned back to look at him before he said, “Come here,” taking a couple of steps toward the couch and sliding his hand down Steve’s arm until he could loosely grab his wrist.

While Tony seriously doubted that it’d be Steve’s first kiss, he knew it’d be _their_ first kiss, and he wanted to make it memorable.

“Tell me your safeword,” he said, and Steve looked surprised, but Tony had already told him once that safewords were for more than just the bedroom, and he wanted Steve to know he could use it now. Besides, he actually did want to introduce an element of D/s in their kiss, and Steve needed to know he could choose to say no. 

“Honor.”

“Alright,” Tony said, like it still didn’t make his heart pound every time he heard Steve say it. “Honor.”

He sat on the edge of the couch, still holding Steve’s wrist, and tugged gently. “Will you get on your knees for me?”

Steve hesitated, and Tony didn’t push. He wanted to give Steve something special, more than a rushed kiss that was over before it could properly begin and more than something casual that could happen between anyone. He wanted it to have meaning, and considering their past, that was probably asking for a lot considering they had a clock ticking over their heads, but he was going to try anyway.

And maybe he wanted to give Steve something to think about while he was gone, something worth coming back to.

Tony couldn’t hear the long, slow breath Steve let out, but he could see Steve take it, and then Steve was sinking to his knees at Tony’s feet, graceful and so damn beautiful it was going to break Tony’s heart.

But all he did was smile gently and say, “Thank you,” and it was far from everything he wanted to say or do to show his gratitude for Steve’s submission, but it was all they had the time for, his hands skimming over Steve’s arms, his neck, cupping his jaw as Steve got into place. 

If Steve had been more experienced, Tony would’ve adjusted his position, moved him closer to the couch, spread his knees a little more, put his hands where he wanted them. But Steve wasn’t, so Tony was the one who shifted around, slipping his fingertips through the fine hairs at Steve’s temple, making Steve close his eyes to hide Tony sliding closer to the edge and to the side until Steve was directly in between his legs. There—hopefully—would be time for correction later. Right now, he didn’t want Steve to worry about anything except what Tony was doing to him.

He stroked the line of Steve’s jaw with the knuckles of his hand, followed the curve of his cheek, up and then down. He noticed the faint flush that was starting to spread across Steve’s face but didn’t call attention to it, just said, “You’re gorgeous,” and traced Steve’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“So are you,” Steve said breathily, and Tony grinned at the compliment, slid his thumb up so it was barely parting Steve’s lips.

“Lick,” he said, and Steve’s eyes went wide, but he did as Tony asked, his tongue flicking against his skin. “Again,” he ordered softly, and it was definitely a little wetter this time, saliva apparently pooling in Steve’s mouth, and he wondered if Steve was thinking about sucking it; if he was thinking about sucking other things.

The flare of heat in Steve’s eyes told him he was, and Tony was going to have to think about ways to test if Steve had an oral fixation while he was gone. 

But that was for later, because he could almost hear the tick of the clock in his head, so he slowly drew his hand down, lightly pulling at Steve’s lip as he leaned forward, and he returned the favor, licking once against plump skin before tilting his head to join their mouths together.

He started with light kisses, soft but quick, along the edges of Steve’s mouth, against parted lips that tried to chase him as he went, and he finally had to grip the hair at the back of Steve’s head to keep him still—something Steve obviously appreciated if the shuddery gasp he gave were anything to go by. But it was when Tony covered Steve’s neck with his other hand, forcing his jaw up, that Steve outright moaned, and Tony gave up the teasing and got serious, relishing the way Steve’s jaw moved against his fingers as their tongues slid together. 

Steve was so warm. It was something Tony had noticed before, but it hadn’t mattered as much as whatever they’d been doing at the time, sparring or hugging or whatever. So what if Steve’s temperature ran a little high? With his face in Tony’s hands, however, with Tony’s tongue in his mouth, it was difficult to ignore. Steve was so fucking warm, and it made every part of him not touching Steve feel cold in comparison.

When Tony had thought about kissing Steve, and he had, many times, it’d been with a certain detachment, because his focus had always been on Steve, the noises he’d make, the reactions Tony would elicit, his fingers and lips moving over Steve with the mastery of a virtuoso with a violin and bow.

He hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to have Steve’s hips trapped between his knees, how the flutters of Steve’s hands as he tried to figure out where to put them would make his heart ache, how it’d feel to have Steve open so willingly for him.

He’d known, of course, that he would enjoy kissing Steve, but he hadn’t known what every hitched breath and throaty sound would do to him, how it’d leave him feeling wrecked and hollow because it didn’t matter how long he had Steve—it would never be long enough.

So he threw himself into the kiss, unable to not get a little lost, and maybe he was more selfish than he’d initially planned to be as he tilted Steve’s head just so, memorized the soft clutch of Steve’s hair and the frantic beat of his pulse under his fingers, but he thought he could be forgiven, all things considered; and if not, he was beyond caring.

This might be all he ever had, he thought, and squeezed his eyes tight, tugging Steve in even closer.

Steve was panting by the time they pulled apart, and even with all the rest of it, Tony watched him with a fierce satisfaction. Steve was going to compare that kiss with everyone’s that came after, and Tony had no doubt that it’d be a long time before his would be found wanting.

“You’re going to be late getting back,” Tony said, his voice coming out embarrassingly rough, but that was fine, because Steve needed to know how much he affected him, no matter how much it exposed Tony in the process.

“I—you’re right,” Steve said, climbing to his feet with much less coordination than he’d gone down, and fuck, Tony had to—one more. Just in case.

“What?” Steve asked afterward, his voice gratifyingly hoarse.

“The first one was for you,” Tony said, finally letting him go. “That one was for me. I’ll see you in three days,” he said and watched as Steve nodded and made his way into the elevator, stood there as Steve left him alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. A KISS. Almost 45K words later. 
> 
> *DIES*


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I apologize for the two week wait, but I got really sick last weekend, so I spent a few days being miserable and unable to write. 
> 
> Thanks to MetaAllu for the read-through. You're the best, bb.
> 
> Also, guys, this is now my most kudos'd fic! \\\\\o/// *does happy dances all over the place, humping everything*
> 
> ETA: Sorry, but I forgot to warn for breath control play during a fantasy!

Steve glanced over at Natasha at the sound of incoming voices. The patrol was early. 

She shrugged and nodded toward the access panel, letting him know she’d keep working while he took care of the guards.

Alright. From the footfalls, he could tell there were the standard four people coming their way, which in and of itself wouldn’t be a problem, but he’d have to be careful to avoid letting one of them sound the alarm. 

He crept to the corner, shield in hand, and waited.

“—and I’m telling you, man, it don’t matter how good she cooks if she—”

He grabbed the first guy and bashed him head-first into the wall, swinging the shield around into his partner’s face while the other two started cursing and scrambling for their radios. One roundhouse later and there was just the last one to deal with, but he seemed to know what he was doing, because he’d given up on reaching his radio and activated the baton in his hand, using it to block Steve’s arm and giving him a nasty shock in the process.

Still, it wasn’t enough to withstand a blow from the shield, and a quick but somewhat satisfying backhand later, there were four men on the ground.

“Took you long enough,” Natasha murmured as she leaned against the wall next to the now-open door.

“You could’ve helped,” he said, dragging all four inside before going back for the patrol they’d taken out earlier. He piled them all together.

“Where would the fun been in that?” she asked and closed the door behind them.

It took her longer to break into the main system, and Steve was starting to worry when she finally said, “Alright, I’ve found them. Dr. Martin is located on level 5 and her husband is on B-4.”

“I’ll get Dr. Martin,” he said, checking his watch. They still had sixteen minutes until Brock started blowing things up.

Natasha nodded. “Alright, I’m just uploading the virus now. See you in fifteen.”

Getting up to the fifth floor wasn’t too hard. They’d already hacked into the security feeds, and he had I. D. cards from the guards he’d taken out, so it was just a matter of running up the stairs and taking out the one person he met on the way. 

The security on the fifth floor was minimal in comparison to the first two floors: one guard at the stair entrance who’d been more asleep than awake and one outside the doors of the lab itself.

“You’re . . . you’re Captain America,” gasped Dr. Martin when he walked inside, but she looked more frightened to see him than relieved.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tipping his head respectfully in her direction. “We’re here to rescue you and your husband.”

“Oliver?” she asked, her hand going to her lips. It was noticeably shaking. “You have him?”

“We’re getting him as we speak,” he said, because he knew Natasha, and he knew she wouldn’t fail. “But we have to hurry.” He took a few slow steps toward her. “The jet is waiting to take you out of here.” Nine minutes left. “We’re going to take you home.” He held out his hand.

“I thought they’d forgotten about us,” she whispered as she stepped forward, tears starting to well in her eyes.

“No, ma’am,” he said and didn’t complain at the desperate clutch of her fingers. “We didn’t forget.”

\-----

“Are you alright?” Natasha asked softly, and Steve looked at her in surprise. He hadn’t noticed her come up. He’d been trying to give Dr. Martin and her husband what privacy he could in the small jet, but he couldn’t help but overhear them sometimes, and their words to each other made his heart ache with sympathy.

“I’m fine,” he said and stole one quick glance at the two of them, Mr. Martin’s head in his Domme’s lap. They’d been held captive for almost five months by a terrorist group called ARES, only allowed to see each other once a week as long as she continued to do work on the biological weapons ARES was interested in. She’d resisted initially. Her husband had paid the price.

“They’ll be okay,” Natasha said, sounding certain.

“How do you know?” he asked, and he wanted to be reassured, because the expressions on both their faces when they’d finally seen each other again would haunt him for a long time.

“You can tell just from looking at them how strong their relationship is. They haven’t stopped touching since the moment they saw each other, and they’re giving each other comfort, and more importantly, accepting it. They’re not going to let this drive them apart.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.” She hesitated briefly, then touched her necklace, an arrow on a chain. “Clint and I went through something similar early on in our relationship. We were only held for a few hours before we escaped, but it was a long few hours. It took a lot of therapy and a lot of time, but we pulled through, because we refused to let it break us. Dr. Martin and her husband will as well.”

Clint and Natasha had . . .

“I’m so sorry,” he said, placing his hand over hers.

She patted him. “It was a long time ago.”

He’d known, of course, about their contract. He’d seen the way they acted around each other, the looks they’d exchanged, the small touches they’d shared. It was obvious how in love they were, and he never would have guessed they’d been through such a traumatic event together. And if whoever had captured them had known who they were, those few hours would’ve been a lot worse than Steve could probably imagine.

Without meaning for them to, his thoughts turned to Tony, about what he’d do if he and Tony were ever in the same situation—

He couldn’t do it. Watch Tony be tortured in front of him? He’d go insane. 

“I’m not saying it’d never happen, but Stark is a valuable commodity, and it’d be much more likely that someone would ransom him or try to leverage his intelligence than hurt him,” Natasha said delicately, and Steve stared at her. He’d never told her about Tony.

The corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smirk. “Oh, come on, Steve. There was way too much sexual tension whenever the two of you were in a room back when Loki was a threat, and then you move back to New York after you’d finally started setting down roots in D. C.?”

“I—” He opened and then closed his mouth. It wasn’t as if he could tell her she was wrong.

\-----

She found him in the cafeteria after medical had taken Dr. and Mr. Martin and their debriefings were over, because they’d done this enough times by now for her to know he needed to eat after a mission, even though it was nearly four in the morning.

He wasn’t surprised to see her. Natasha had somehow started taking a protective older sister attitude toward him, telling him he should go out more whenever she’d been in town and even started suggesting potential candidates for him to date. She’d want to know what he’d been doing while she was gone.

“So, Stark,” she said, sitting down across from him with a cup of coffee. 

He quirked his lips and shrugged, chewing his pancakes.

“You two were together before Loki,” she said, confident she already knew the answer.

He swallowed. “Officially.”

“But not during or after.”

He shook his head. 

“And now?”

“We’re not in a contract, but . . . I went to him.”

She nodded knowingly. “You’re happy?”

“I think I will be,” he said, cautious but hopeful.

She smiled. “Good. You deserve it,” she said, and Steve found himself looking down at his plate. It wasn’t that he disagreed with her, but after everything that had happened, it was still a struggle to accept that good things _could_ happen to him and have faith that they wouldn’t be taken away.

“I’ve always liked Stark,” she said, leaning back in her chair, and he looked up in time to see her expression turn sly. “And I’ve heard some of the most interesting things about him,” she said, her tone making it apparent exactly what kind of things she was referring to, and he laughed and took another bite of food, hoping to cover his flush. “What? Don’t you want to know?” she asked, looking at him expectantly.

“No, thank you. It’s one of those things I prefer to find out for myself,” he said, the memory of their kisses flashing through his mind and making him shift in his chair.

She winked. “Oh, I just bet you do,” she said and reached over to steal a piece of his bacon.

\-----

Their plane back to the states wasn’t scheduled to leave until close to ten in the morning, so Steve went back to his room in order to try and sleep for a few hours.

What he ended up doing, however, was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. It was about a nine hour flight back to New York, but with the time difference, he’d see Tony that afternoon.

He let out a slow breath.

Should he kiss him? Would Tony want him to kiss him? Two kisses didn’t automatically assume permission for more. Did they?

He could always ask for another kiss. Asking had led to . . . wonderful things. 

He raised his hand, letting it hover in the air for a second before touching his lips, feeling the weight of his fingers and wishing they were Tony’s.

_Lick._

Steve closed his eyes.

But maybe he should wait until Tony kissed him this time?

Of course, if he’d waited on Tony, he wouldn’t have even had a kiss to remember right now.

Not that he was complaining about the hugs, because he loved them. He just hadn’t expected Tony to take things so slowly.

But then, he had a history of making assumptions about Tony that turned out to be wrong.

_”It seems to me that the two of you spent a lot of time assuming things about each other instead of simply asking what the other person wants,” Dr. Saunders said, raising her eyebrows at Steve._

_Steve’s lips thinned. “Yes,” he admitted grudgingly._

_“Then give yourself the tools to move away from that pattern. Determine what you’re hoping for out of your relationship with Mr. Stark. And I don’t mean in general. I mean specifically. Are you looking for a short-term relationship or long-term? Do you want it to be open or closed? How do you see the long-distance affecting it? Is sex going to be part of the relationship, and if so, do you envision it happening right away or would you prefer to wait for a specific period of time? The same question applies for dominance and submission. If the answer is yes, then the two of you should go over what you are and are not willing to do. Write your answers down. Organize your thoughts. And then after you’ve done that, ask Mr. Stark to do the same. Discuss your answers with each other. Don’t go into this blind. You did that once already, and it didn’t work. Figure out what the both of you want and move towards it together.”_

He’d tried to do what she’d suggested, but it . . . hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d thought it would.

He’d intended to finish out his contract with Tony, but he’d thought they might do it long-distance at first, keeping their separate apartments but seeing each other on the weekends and gradually move towards living together again. That had changed as soon as he’d realized how hurt Tony still was about what had happened. He couldn’t ask Tony to have a long-distance relationship when that meant leaving Tony over and over again. It had to be all or nothing.

He didn’t regret his decision, although he did miss not being able to discuss things with Dr. Saunders anymore. She hadn’t been happy with his decision when he’d called to tell her he was moving, and she’d counseled against it, but his mind had been made up. He had to be in New York. There wasn’t another way. 

Unfortunately, that meant he couldn’t see her professionally anymore. She didn’t think it’d be good for him to continue being her patient if she couldn’t meet with him regularly, and she’d given him the names of two of her counterparts in New York that she personally recommended, but he hadn’t contacted either of them yet. It’d taken a long time to feel comfortable with Dr. Saunders, and it was daunting to think he’d have to start the whole process over again.

He could’ve used her advice now—about the kissing and other things.

Things weren’t the same between them. Steve knew that he shouldn’t expect them to be, and he didn’t miss the tension that had always lurked in their interactions before, but . . .

They’d started to achieve a balance back before everything had gone wrong, and maybe it was just a matter of time until they found it again, but in the meantime, its absence made him unsettled. 

Of course, that might have a lot to do with his own feelings of guilt. 

He’d known that Tony had cared. What he hadn’t known was how much. And he still didn’t, honestly, but he couldn’t have hurt Tony to that degree unless his feelings for Steve had been a lot deeper than he’d grasped back then.

And Steve had walked away.

Not intentionally exactly. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone if things had been different, but he couldn’t say that for sure. He’d been so messed up back then—and he was far from perfect now, he knew, but it felt much more manageable now.

Things would’ve been easier in many ways if Tony had actually agreed to punish him that first night, because then, at least, Steve could have admitted what he’d done wrong, atoned for it, and been forgiven. He would’ve still carried around his guilt for what he’d done, but it wouldn’t have been as bad.

Now, however, he carried it around without quite knowing how to make it smaller. He wanted to be good for Tony. He just . . . didn’t know how.

He sighed, rolling over. 

Maybe it started with the kisses, though. Tony had been so patient recently, but that surely had to be for Steve’s sake. Like Natasha, he’d heard enough stories about Tony to recognize that wasn’t how Tony normally operated. 

But Tony had kept things platonic between them for a week without showing any signs of taking it further, and while Steve realized a week was no time at all, would Tony have waited that long with anyone else? Steve had been around long enough to know that in this day and age, if two people were living together for a week, a lot more would’ve happened by now than just hugs and two kisses. So why were they taking things so slowly?

He was starting to suspect it was because Tony didn’t trust him anymore, not with this at least. Once bitten, twice shy, and had they really done much outside their old routine? They actually saw each other less now since Steve was working at SHIELD, and yes, they hugged, but those were more for comfort than passion.

Tony had seemed to appreciate that Steve had asked for a kiss, however, and maybe . . . maybe that was what Tony was waiting for? To see Steve take the initiative—to _prove_ that he wanted this for real this time around? 

Because Steve did. He was starting to suspect that he wanted everything Tony was willing to give him. 

It hadn’t been that way a year ago, however. Steve had almost never asked for more than the most superficial things from Tony, things that he hadn’t cared about, that Tony could deny him without hurting him. The only time he’d asked for something that mattered had been when he’d told Tony he’d wanted to apologize, although he wasn’t sure if Tony had understood he’d used that for his one request of the day. He’d needed Tony to hear him out, however, and it was the only way he’d thought he could guarantee that Tony would listen—even if it hadn’t been necessary in the end.

So maybe that was what he should do when he got back, keep asking for things that mattered until Tony believed him, believed _in_ him.

And then they could finally have that talk that Dr. Saunders had suggested.

Although . . . what should he ask for next?

He’d considered asking for more kisses, but now that he thought about it, that wasn’t really forward progress. They’d already kissed once, and if he asked, Tony would probably be willing to do it again, but wouldn’t Tony want more than that?

Steve swallowed, thinking again about Tony’s fingers curling around his throat, about how at ease Tony had been, sitting above him. 

There hadn’t been an ounce of hesitation in Tony’s actions. He’d been confident that Steve would enjoy everything he did, and he’d been right. Steve had more than enjoyed them. He’d been thinking about them ever since whenever he had a spare moment, and even when he didn’t, random thoughts intruding without his permission. Tony made him want things he hadn’t had in a very long time, and it was almost unfair that it’d happened right before a mission, because he couldn’t give it half the focus he wanted to.

Of course, the mission was over now.

He found himself glancing at the nightstand clock, a quick dart of his eyes, there and away. There were still several hours before takeoff. 

He should spend them sleeping.

Although . . . he wasn’t sleeping, was he? And it really was going to be a long flight; and he already knew he’d inevitably spend much of it thinking about Tony, unable to do anything except sit there and wait; and yes, he’d already taken care of himself in the shower after he’d gotten back, but that had been a while ago, and it’d been quick and perfunctory at best.

If he masturbated now, it’d help him fall asleep, which meant he’d be in better shape when he saw Tony. Plus, he could get it out of his system and spend the plane ride figuring out his next steps. Wouldn’t that be a better use of his time?

It would, but really, Steve knew he was going to do it just because he wanted to, and he was just trying to rationalize his decision.

 _Get it together, Rogers_ , he told himself, and pulled off his shirt before lowering his boxers down to his knees and shifting his legs up so his feet rested on the bed. He worked up some saliva and spit into his palm, taking his cock in hand. 

He’d thought about the kisses so many times by now that it was easy to imagine himself right back at Tony’s feet, Tony looking at him in approval.

Steve’s breath hitched, and he squeezed himself a little, his other hand starting to slowly rub up and down his thigh.

He hadn’t expected Tony to want him on his knees, but he was glad that Tony had put him there for their first kiss. It’d made it feel more significant, made him think that Tony had thought it was just as important as he did, that Tony honestly _wanted_ his submission.

His thighs clenched, and he let his other hand drift lower.

 _You’re gorgeous,_ Tony had said, and it had been the first time he’d ever said anything like that. Even now, Steve could feel himself blush at the sincerity in Tony’s voice—although it could also be blamed on his response.

 _So are you._ He winced. He still couldn’t believe he’d said that. If he’d ever wanted to highlight the difference in their experience, that had definitely been the way to do it. Crap.

Tony had been willing to ignore it, however, and when he’d said, _Lick_ —

He shivered, bringing his thumb to his mouth to relive the memory. Tony had rough hands, and Steve had liked them all the better because of it. He would’ve been happy to spend more time exploring them with his tongue and his mouth, and he wondered if Tony would want him to do that in the future again. If he’d demand Steve suck on them. If Tony would thrust them in and out of his mouth. 

He swallowed thickly and wondered when Tony would want him on his knees for a different reason. He’d only tried it a few times before, but he’d liked it, and he looked forward to doing it again. Maybe Tony would even grab his hair again, and Steve remembered the cascade of shivers that had triggered, his shoulders coming up in reaction. It made his nipples tingle, embarrassingly enough, and he lowered his fingers from his mouth to rub at one, but it didn’t soothe the sensation so much as make it ten times worse instead.

Especially when he thought about Tony putting his hand on his neck. 

Steve stifled a moan, the memory making it that much easier to stroke his cock as it let out a spurt of precome, and he rested his hand on his throat, shuddering at how good it felt. 

He’d never really thought about that before, the threat of someone pressing down, the possibility. What if Tony had tried to choke him?

He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his neck muscles tighten reflexively, his Adam’s apple dip as he tried to swallow.

He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Tony had tried, how he would’ve reacted, and Tony hadn’t actually done anything, so maybe it didn’t matter—but what if Tony wanted to?

 _Fuck._ His hips tilted, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he sped up, his hand feeling heavier and heavier.

Would he be able to be still and just accept it, or would he thrash around, gripping the bed so he didn’t accidentally push Tony away? Or maybe Tony wouldn’t want to take his air away so much as restrict it, putting just enough pressure that he had to struggle for it. How long would he keep Steve on the edge, desperate to beg for release but unable to find the breath for it? 

Steve squeezed his cock so tightly that each slide of his hand hurt, and he bowed off the bed as he came, teeth gritted, his whole body shaking again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am on tumblr again. http://some-blue-jack.tumblr.com/ I don't post much that's fandom related, and I'm all over the place really, so why anyone would want to follow me, I have no idea. BUT sometimes I want to ask for writing prompts, so I need people to follow me so you guys can give me ideas. *puppy dog eyes*
> 
> Speaking of which, does anyone have any suggestions as to what Steve should ask for next? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Meta for the read-through!
> 
> ETA: I totally forgot to give a shout-out to Anchanee who gave me the idea of Steve asking Tony out on a date. Thank you so much!

Steve was tired when he got back to the penthouse, but that didn’t seem to matter to the butterflies in his stomach. Three days wasn’t long by any means, but after having gone almost a year without seeing Tony prior to that, it’d been a lot longer than he’d liked. 

He wondered what Tony would do when he walked in. Smile at him probably, because Tony was always generous with his smiles, but come over and hug him? Kiss him maybe? Not even passionately, although Steve wouldn’t mind that, would welcome it in fact, but a simple kiss hello to tell him he’d missed him?

Bucky would make so much fun of him, he thought, his mouth twisting wistfully. He remembered how he’d teased him when he was mooning over Peggy.

_“You’re acting like such a Sub right now,” Bucky said, shaking his head, smirking outrageously. “Should I go find you a flower so you can pluck the petals? She loves me. She loves me not. She loves—”_

Sometimes, Bucky had been a huge asshole, he thought, his heart aching for all the things they’d never share again.

The slide of the elevator doors opening caught him by surprise, and he straightened hastily. He’d already asked JARVIS to not tell Tony he was back, but it wouldn’t be a very welcome surprise if Tony’s first sight of him was of him being melancholy. He took a quick breath and cleared his expression, stepping inside the penthouse.

Although it was a wasted effort since Tony wasn’t there. 

Okay, that’d been kind of foolish of him to assume Tony would be waiting in the living room just because he’d been there the last time he’d come back. Tony had a lot to do, and he wouldn’t put his life on hold simply because Steve had gone on a mission.

He went to his room to put his things away, hesitating in the bathroom before brushing his teeth again—he’d brushed them that morning, but he’d eaten and had a couple of cups of coffee since then—and then started his search for Tony.

He found him in his lab, busy at work with a welding iron, raucous music blaring over the speakers. Tony didn’t notice him come in, and Steve stood there at a loss.

Should he interrupt him? No, that’d be rude to expect Tony to drop everything just because he’d gotten back. He’d should wait until Tony was finished. 

He pushed down the unreasoning disappointment that Tony hadn’t somehow magically _known_ he was there and headed upstairs. He should’ve phoned to tell Tony he was in town, or at least sent a text. Hell, he probably should’ve contacted Tony after the mission was over. With the time difference, it wouldn’t have even been that late, and he could’ve told him approximately what time he’d be in New York. He hadn’t given Tony any kind of ETA about when he’d get in, though, just said it’d be a three day mission, so he had no one but himself to blame that Tony was occupied.

He puttered around the apartment for a while before going to the pool to swim. If Tony happened to come up, he didn’t want to be sweaty, and there was nothing wrong really with reminding Tony of what he looked like half-naked. 

If he flushed a little at the thought, well, there was no one around to call him on it.

On the plane ride to New York, he’d finally decided what he was going to ask Tony for next: a date. Somewhere public, where everyone could see the two of them together, and someplace romantic, so no one could mistake _why_ they were together. Tony had never made a point of taking Steve out where they’d be noticed, had seemed to do the opposite in fact, and Steve had appreciated it at the time, although he’d never thanked Tony for it, just like all the other things he’d accepted from Tony but never acknowledged.

He was finally ready, however, to let people see what he and Tony were to each other, what they could be. And he wanted Tony to know that. 

It’d be even more of a statement if he asked for a collar, but that he was still unsure of. He and Tony weren’t in a contract, and collars were more for couples that were. He didn’t want to ask for one and thereby indirectly pressure Tony, and if he were being honest, he didn’t want to wear one either. 

Maybe he was being ridiculous, but he wanted it to signify something, wanted Tony to ask because Tony _wanted_ him to have it. They were probably still a long way from that point, but that was alright. For all the weeks that they’d spent together, they didn’t really know that much about one another, and he was happy to give them the time they needed. He wasn’t in love with Tony, not yet—although he knew himself, and it wouldn’t take much more for him to take the fall. Of course, Tony wasn’t in love with him either, and hopefully that would change one day, but until then . . .

He was just glad they were together.

\-----

When dinner time had come and gone with still no sign of Tony, Steve finally decided to take action.

“JARVIS, how long has Tony been in his lab?”

“Mr. Stark has been working for the past thirty eight hours.”

Steve felt his jaw drop a little.

“When was the last time he slept?” he demanded.

“He took a two hour nap this morning at approximately five a.m..”

“When was the last time he _ate_?”

“He had a carton of leftover lo mein noodles right before his nap.”

“What can he possibly be working on that requires this kind of effort?” Steve asked, because unless something sinister were coming towards New York—which he was sure he would’ve heard about—there was no justifiable reason for Tony to be working himself to the bone.

“Mr. Stark is frequently in the habit of spending multiple, consecutive days in the lab when inspiration strikes.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. “He never did that when I was here.”

There was no response.

He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s got to stop,” Steve said and headed towards the kitchen. 

What was the point in Tony wearing himself down? As an artist, he understood that there were times when the muse was more free with her gifts than others, and he’d spent a few nights up later than he should’ve in his time. But it had always caught up with him, made him sicker than he’d been before, more sluggish and slow. There been things he’d drawn that had seemed so perfect in the wee hours of the morning that he’d later looked at, only to realize the dimensions were off, or the shading was bad, or any number of mistakes that he hadn’t noticed, and then he’d had to spend hours fixing something that would’ve taken only minutes if he’d seen it right away.

It made him angry that Tony didn’t take care of himself better, that he only had JARVIS around to watch over him when JARVIS enabled his bad habits. It made him angrier that Tony had hidden this from him, even though he knew he was being unfair, because Tony had probably restrained himself for Steve’s sake, so he wouldn’t be left alone. But what made him angriest of all was that the Steve from before wouldn’t have even cared if Tony had locked himself away for hours on end, would’ve preferred it in fact. If Tony _were_ waiting on Steve to prove himself, he couldn’t blame him. He was right to. Steve didn’t deserve his trust.

He would, though, he thought, pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. He’d show Tony that he could put his faith in him.

Steve had eaten with Tony frequently enough to know how he liked his sandwiches, and he assembled three of them, putting them on a plate, as well as grabbing a bottle of water. It was quick, which was important, and besides, there was no reason to make Tony suffer because of his cooking. 

He hurried downstairs, saying, “JARVIS, please turn off the music,” as soon as he walked into Tony’s lab.

“Of course, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS said, and then it was blessedly quiet.

The absence of sound was almost as loud as the music itself had been, but Tony didn’t seem to notice, so absorbed in what he was doing that Steve assumed it’d all become background noise for him.

He glanced at the worktable, but it was a mess of wires and circuitry that he couldn’t make head or tails of. He’d gotten used to a lot of modern technology, but he didn’t know how much or really any of it worked, and he doubted that Tony’s table was the place for a beginner to try and learn by himself.

“Tony,” he said, debating whether he should set the items down on a clean spot—except there were no clean spots, or at least, none that didn’t make him nervous. He doubted a little spilled food would cause a problem, but then again, it might.

Tony didn’t look up.

Steve made sure Tony wasn’t holding anything flammable or explosive, and then he stuck the sandwiches under Tony’s face. “Tony, it’s time to eat.”

“Not now, DUM-E,” Tony said, brushing the plate away.

“Oh for—” He stuck the bottle under his arm and snagged Tony’s wrist, gently pulling his hand up until Tony’s face followed and they were looking each other in the eye. “Tony, food.”

He looked tired, dark smudges under his eyes, harsh lines standing out around his eyes and mouth.

Tony blinked. “You’re not DUM-E,” he said blankly and tugged his hand free. “When did you get back?” he asked, reaching up to pull out—

“Why are you wearing earplugs?” Steve asked in disbelief.

“Eh.” Tony shrugged. “The music can get distracting, but I like the feel of the bass sometimes. It keeps me going.”

Steve could feel his eyebrows do something strange, but he honestly had no idea how to respond to that, so he answered Tony’s question intead. “I, um, got back a few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t stop by?” Tony asked, his mouth curving down.

“I did,” Steve said, and he hadn’t gotten the greeting he’d been hoping for on the plane, but Tony’s disappointment went a long way to making up for it. “You were busy, though, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “As long as the door isn’t locked, you can stop in whenever you want.”

“Alright. Next time I will,” Steve said and smiled, pleased.

Tony swallowed, clearing his throat. “So what’s this about food? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

“Well that’s no surprise considering how long it’s been since you’ve eaten,” Steve said disapprovingly, but he gave Tony the sandwiches and water. 

“I only have so many hands,” Tony said, taking a huge bite. “Although that is a thought,” he said, turning contemplative, although it looked rather silly when he took another bite and his cheeks bulged with food. “JARVIS—”

“You asked me to remind you of Cthulhu if you ever tried to create extra arms again.”

“Oh yeah, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? They kept clumping around my face for some reason,” Tony said, wiggling his fingers next to his cheek. “I never could them to stop. Ah well, you win some, you lose some,” Tony said, shrugging. “So tell me about the mission. How did it go?”

Steve didn’t feel right going into too much detail, even if he knew it was entirely possible Tony could hack into SHIELD’s databases and find out for himself. He shared the bits and pieces he could, however, as Tony finished the sandwiches in rapid succession, only slowing down near the end of last one when he started listing gently to the side.

Steve knew what it was like to go, go, go, until he finally stopped, and he wasn’t surprised that Tony’s energy had finally run out now that he’d sat down and filled his stomach.

“It’s been a really long day, though, and I’m beat,” he said after winding down his story, trying to make voice low and soothing. “Do you mind if I turn in?”

“Of course not,” Tony said, blinking slowly. “You should definitely get some sleep.”

“What about you?” Steve asked, getting up off his stool. He took the rest of Tony’s sandwich and put it back on the plate, holding on to it while he reached out with his free hand, and when Tony only watched it, he carefully took hold of Tony’s wrist. “Shouldn’t you go to bed too?”

“I wasn’t really finished, though,” Tony said, but he let Steve draw him from his seat and didn’t object when Steve started walking towards the door. Tony had already drained and tossed the water bottle, and he felt confident JARVIS would shut everything down once they’d left.

“You weren’t?” Steve said and kept going.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tony said when they reached the penthouse. Steve glanced back at Tony, but he kept heading towards Tony’s room. It was slow going since Tony was so tired, but they were almost there.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“That seems like it’d take a lot of energy,” Tony said, letting out a weak huff of laughter, “so no.”

“It would be a lot of effort,” Steve said, squeezing Tony’s wrist. “I’m very determined when I want to be.”

“I’ve noticed,” Tony said dryly, but he didn’t look particularly upset.

The lights turned on as soon as they stepped past the doorway, and he guided Tony to the bed, trying not to look around. He’d never been in Tony’s room before, but he hadn’t exactly been invited, so it felt wrong to satisfy his curiosity. He focused instead on Tony and had him sit down on the mattress, finally letting go of him. He ignored how empty his hand felt and worked on helping Tony pull of his shirt—he’d seen at least two dollops of a combination of mustard and mayonnaise fall on it—but he was careful to leave the undershirt on.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tony said roughly when Steve knelt at his feet, and he looked up, smiling wryly.

“How else am I going to get your shoes off?” 

“I can do it myself,” Tony said, not making any move to follow through, and Steve nodded.

“Sure, Tony.”

He pulled both shoes and socks off, neatly placing the shoes side-by-side with the socks inside, and then he took a fortifying breath. There was just one more thing he needed to take off Tony.

“Can you unbutton your jeans?” he asked, quite levelly, he thought. He could probably have Tony lie down at this point so he could stand up and pull off the jeans by the bottoms of the legs, but as he looked up at Tony, he decided there was no need to make things harder on themselves. He was fine where he was.

Tony didn’t say anything, just blinked once, slow and heavy, and then his fingers went to the top of his jeans, undoing the button and sliding the zipper down, and Steve realized he was staring.

He looked away, flushing furiously if the heat in his cheeks was anything to go by, but he could still hear the rasp of cloth as Tony lifted up, pushing his jeans down.

“Okay,” Tony said, and Steve jumped slightly, glancing back, although the jeans were still mostly in the way, bunched up around his groin, impeded by the spread of Tony’s thighs.

“Okay,” Steve said and swallowed, eyes flitting up to meet Tony’s, just for a second, before he was staring at Tony’s jeans again.

He settled back on his legs. His hands weren’t quite steady as he grabbed the denim, and they were strangely slow, moving the material at a glacial pace. He watched as first dark grey cotton boxer-briefs were revealed—the undershirt just covering the juncture of Tony’s legs—then toned thighs with their sprinkling of hair, knobby knees, and finally, he got the barest glimpse of Tony’s shins and calves as the jeans fell completely to the floor. 

Tony moved his feet out of them, shaking them off, and Steve absently folded the jeans, resting them on top of the shoes.

“You should—” He cleared his throat. “You should go to bed,” he said, but he didn’t move from where he was. He kept trying to look up, but his eyes were drawn over and over to the space between Tony’s thighs, to where his undershirt had shifted so that Steve could see the curve of Tony’s penis in his underwear, the cloth stretched tight. 

“So should you,” Tony said, even as he gently brushed Steve’s bangs away from his forehead, sliding his hand through his hair.

Steve shivered, and he did look up then, Tony’s hand sliding down to cup his jaw.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Tony said, a small smile on his face, and yet his expression was so, so tender. He leaned in and gave Steve a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Goodni—”

“May I touch you?” Steve asked quickly, not ready to be dismissed, not wanting to lose the press of Tony’s hands and mouth when he’d just gotten them. “I want to touch you,” he said, changing his request, because he’d never realized how powerful the words “I want” could be until Tony had taught him. 

Tony pulled back, a frown forming on his lips. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” Steve said, placing both hands on Tony’s thighs and leaning in close. He hesitated only a moment before rubbing his cheek once against Tony’s and keeping it there as he whispered into his ear, “Please.”

“What do you want, Steve?” Tony asked, his breath swirling over Steve’s skin, and Steve remembered the day Tony had hinted he was attracted to him, how uncertain he’d been in response, how he’d avoided talking to Tony about it, because he hadn’t known what he wanted.

He knew now, though, knew he wanted Tony, that he’d wanted him for quite a while. The last time Tony had asked him the question, however, he hadn’t reacted well to that answer, and while Steve realized that the situation then had had a lot to do with that, a part of him didn’t want to risk invoking that same reaction.

So he said, “I want to be good for you,” the words just as true, even if they didn’t express the full extent of his feelings.

“You _are_ good for me,” Tony said, his arms coming up to hold Steve.

And maybe Tony really believed that, but Steve didn’t feel good _enough_ , always seemed to come up lacking, even when he didn’t mean to, and he wanted to start making it up to Tony, wanted to—

He’d been planning to ask Tony on a date. But wouldn’t this be better? Wouldn’t this convey his intentions as clear as he could make them? 

“Let me,” he pleaded, his hands sliding up Tony’s thighs, so there could be no mistaking what he was asking. “Please. I want to. Let me do this for you, Tony,” Steve said, shifting back just enough to catch Tony’s eyes so he could see how sincere he was. 

Tony looked at him for a long time, although if he were trying to find some sign of doubt, there was none. 

“Alright,” Tony said softly, and Steve wondered at the tiredness he heard in his voice until he remembered that Tony hadn’t been sleeping, that the only reason they were in the position they were in now was because he’d planned on putting Tony to bed. He probably shouldn’t have let things get this far, considering all that, he thought with a twinge of shame at his selfishness, but it was too late to back away now without making giving Tony the wrong idea and possibly straining their relationship further. 

He shouldn’t linger, however. No matter how much he wished he could. He’d intended to use his hands so he could watch Tony’s reactions, but regretfully, he decided it’d be faster with his mouth. Regretful, not because he didn’t want to, but because it’d been quite a while since he’d done it for anyone, and he’d enjoyed it the few occasions he’d done it before, had no doubt that he’d enjoy it even more now since it was with Tony. He would’ve liked to take his time. Still, there’d be opportunities for slow later, but Tony was already exhausted. It wouldn’t do to draw things out.

He turned his head, kissing Tony softly on his cheek, just a brush of his lips, and then he sank down, freeing Tony from his underwear as his face was almost level with Tony’s groin. There was no time to look his fill, so he opened his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he took Tony in.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my thanks to MetaAllu.
> 
> Warning: More breath control play. This is probably going to be a theme now, so this will be the last time I warn about it (unless I write a really extreme scene, which I don't see myself writing at this point, but just in case).

When Tony woke up the next day, he stared up at the ceiling, eyes dry and itchy, and he thought, _I was right_.

He rolled his head to the side to stare at the empty space next to him in the bed. Steve hadn’t bothered to stay. Although maybe . . .

“JARVIS, where’s Steve right now?” 

“Captain Rogers is at SHIELD headquarters. Shall I contact him, Sir?”

“No,” Tony said, rubbing at his eyes. He had a headache building, he felt grimy and disgusting, and his teeth had a coating on them that told him it’d been way too long since he’d brushed them. It must have been his overwhelming animal magnetism that had made Steve proposition him. “Where did he sleep last night?”

“He spent the night in his bedroom.”

“Yeah.” Tony covered his face with his arm. “Yeah.” 

He’d known. He’d _known_ that was why Steve had come back, so there was no reason to feel like someone had taken a hammer and tried to pry out the arc reactor from his chest. It didn’t change anything. 

Other than the speed of things anyway. Here he’d been fixating on hugs, but after last night, well, he obviously didn’t need to worry that Steve didn’t have enough sexual experience. It was just submitting that he didn’t know much about. So fine. Tony would help him figure out what he liked. No problem.

He rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, pressing his knuckles in harder and harder.

No problem.

\-----

Steve wasn’t sure what to expect when he got to the penthouse. After yesterday . . .

He quickly diverted his thoughts, because as he’d learned early on, thoughts of what had happened and walking around in public didn’t go well together.

It was hard to not think about it, though, the weight of Tony on his tongue, the way Tony had sighed as he’d carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, the sight of Tony as he lay on the bed afterwards, sleepy and content.

There’d been a moment when he’d been incredibly tempted to climb into bed with him, but he’d simply wrapped Tony up in his comforter before heading to his own room instead. One thing being with Tony had taught him was the importance of receiving permission; Tony had always been so careful to ask before he ever did anything to Steve, and he didn’t want to return the favor by assuming Tony would say yes.

He was hopeful, however, that Tony would invite him into his bed that night—although maybe Steve would take the opportunity to ask instead. Of course, there were many things he’d like to ask for. Maybe he should get Tony to clarify rule six for him. It’d been so long since he’d set out his list that Steve wasn’t sure if he recalled it exactly. Had Tony said he needed to tell him one thing he wanted every day, or _at least_ one thing?

He smiled to himself, thinking about Tony’s expression were he to ask that question. It seemed like the kind of thing Tony would appreciate.

He walked through the main doors of Stark Tower and nodded to Lisa behind the front desk, to Dave at the security desk, and to the two guards he wasn’t familiar with yet as they walked the halls. He normally tried to stop and say hello to Lisa and Dave at least, but he was in a hurry to get upstairs. He would’ve liked to stay in that morning to spend time with Tony, but while he didn’t normally go in every day—other than the week before when he’d been transferring offices and then preparing to get Dr. Martin—there’d been things he needed to wrap up post-mission. He’d done everything he could to get all his meetings and paperwork finished as soon as possible, but it was still almost three o’clock, and since Tony had been sleeping when he left, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet today.

He put his hand on the pad next to the elevator doors and kept his eyes open for the retinal scanner.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” JARVIS said as soon as he was inside.

“Hello, JARVIS,” he said and tried to smile normally at the security camera. It was difficult, considering he knew JARVIS knew what had gone on between him and Tony—although it was probably ridiculous to be embarrassed in front of JARVIS, considering everything he’d already seen Steve do while he’d lived in Stark Tower. “Is Tony upstairs?” 

“Yes, sir, he is, and Mr. Stark has requested your presence in his bedroom as soon as you’re available.”

“Oh,” Steve said, his mind going blank for a second before filling with all sorts of images that made him grateful he was alone.

His bedroom. Tony wanted him in his bedroom. Where Steve had given him a blowjob last night.

Steve felt saliva begin to gather in his mouth, and he swallowed hastily, glancing at the security camera out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t believe Tony had asked JARVIS to tell him that, and although JARVIS sounded normal, he had no idea what to say to him now.

He was relieved when the doors opened, but he still hesitated for a moment before stepping into the penthouse. Should he go straightaway? Or maybe to his own room first so he could freshen up? 

He glanced down, reassuring himself that he at least didn’t have any stains on his clothes and that he wasn’t too rumpled. He even looked mostly presentable since he’d had to go into work—not that Tony had ever complained about the clothes Steve normally wore, or that worried about his own attire. Tony tended to wear what he wanted, be it a Tshirt and jeans one day, or a bespoke suit the next.

Nonetheless, Steve wanted to look his best for Tony if they were going to . . .

They were going to have sex, weren’t they? 

He couldn’t think of any other reason Tony would ask him to go to his bedroom—although his imagination was suddenly coming up with all sorts of implausible scenarios—but no. After last night, it definitely had to be about sex.

Didn’t it?

Shit, maybe he should brush his teeth.

He cupped his hand, bringing it to his mouth and huffed into it, quickly breathing it in. He couldn’t actually tell if he had bad breath or not, but better to be safe than sorry, he thought, and hurried to his room.

While he was there, he decided to change his clothes, just because, although—should he shower? He thought about all the places Tony could possibly want to touch, and yes, he definitely needed to shower.

After thoroughly washing himself, he toweled off, scrubbing at his hair until it was as dry as it was going to get. Why didn’t he own a blow dryer? He obviously wasn’t prepared enough—

 _Fuck_. He stared at himself in the mirror with wide eyes. Should he prepare himself?

Tony wouldn’t expect—would he?

No. _No._ Tony would’ve said something, he thought, and promptly went beet red at the idea of Tony giving him those kind of orders. Shit, he was actually starting to sweat, he was so hot.

He wet a washcloth with cold water and wiped at his face. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d faced down enemy soldiers with more composure than this.

He had no clue how much time had passed by the time he’d finally collected himself and was ready, and he refused to think about it, because he knew if he did, he’d just make himself worse. 

Okay. He breathed. In. Out. Okay. It was time.

He walked to Tony’s room.

“Hello, Steve,” Tony said from where he was sitting in an armchair. He set down his tablet on the table next to him and smiled.

“Hello,” he said, and he didn’t know if he could sound any more awkward if he tried. 

Tony’s smile got bigger. He lazily looked Steve up and down, and Steve felt painfully conscious of his neatly ironed-shirt and slacks, the dampness of his hair. He should’ve just gone to Tony as soon as he’d gotten off the elevator.

“Come here,” Tony said, and Steve complied, relieved to move on to whatever was going to happen next. Maybe he didn’t know what exactly they were going to do, but he trusted Tony. He knew Tony would take care of him.

It felt a little odd to walk across the entire room with Tony just watching him, however, so much so that he started wondering if he always walked liked this, or were his arms swinging slightly further than usual, and why did he take such big steps? He made it to Tony without tripping over his feet, which he was grateful for, and he stopped a short distance away from him.

“I was thinking a little closer,” Tony said, patting his thigh, and Steve eyed him dubiously, because he couldn’t be implying what Steve thought he was implying.

He did step forward, though, until he was almost brushing Tony’s knees.

“It’s like you’re trying to give me a crick in my neck,” Tony complained. “Sit down,” he said, and when Steve turned towards the other chair, Tony clarified, “On my lap.”

And apparently Tony _had_ meant it. He frowned at him.

Tony gazed calmly back.

“I’m heavier than I look,” he said finally, and it wasn’t that he didn’t think Tony could support him, but he wasn’t sure Tony would really want to once he sat down.

“I think I can handle it,” Tony said dryly, and alright.

“Like . . . this?” Steve asked, starting to turn around.

“Like this,” Tony said, catching his wrist and drawing him forward until Steve straddled his legs.

He tried to figure out some way to sit down without looking ridiculous, but it was an armchair, and while roomy, there was nowhere to put his knees, especially not with the way Tony was sitting so far back. He finally had to wedge them next to Tony’s thighs, which put his groin extremely close to Tony’s face for a few nerve-wracking seconds, and it was only the absurdity of the situation that allowed him to maneuver around without blushing to high heaven.

Not that he wasn’t red, because he was, but at least he didn’t feel like he was having a heat stroke.

He tried to keep most of his weight off of Tony’s legs, but Tony just rolled his eyes, saying, “Will you sit down already?” as he slid his hands up Steve’s back in order to grab his shoulders, yanking him down. 

Steve let out the tiniest grunt as the back of his thighs met the tops of Tony’s, and this was a very sexual position, wasn’t it, he thought, staring into Tony’s eyes, the warmth of his body seeping through Steve’s clothes. He didn’t remember putting them there, but one hand was on an armrest, and the other one was braced against Tony’s chest. His fingers twitched.

“Is this alright?” Tony asked, not moving.

“Yes,” Steve said, even though he wasn’t quite sure. There was something a little humiliating about sitting on Tony’s lap, nevermind that he was bigger or that Tony had to look up at him. He felt like he was on display, that Tony could see each and every one of his reactions, and embarrassingly, he felt his cock start to stir.

“What’s your safeword?” 

“Honor,” he said, rougher than he’d intended.

Tony’s lips quirked. “Honor. So about last night,” Tony said, his hands starting a slow stroke down Steve’s back.

“Yes?” Steve asked. He knew it was important, and he didn’t think Tony would’ve wanted him to sit like this if he were angry, but Steve was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. What if Tony hadn’t liked—he arched reflexively as Tony found a ticklish spot. 

“I’m pretty sure I owe you,” Tony said, and Steve felt a wash of relief. It wasn’t going to be bad after all.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said as Tony’s hands drifted lower. Steve tensed in anticipation, but Tony changed direction before he even reached his belt. He didn’t know why it was alright that Tony was touching him, but he couldn’t convince himself to move his own hand on Tony’s chest. He wanted to explore Tony’s body. He just . . . wasn’t.

“No? Why not?”

“Well, it’s—it’s not one of those things you keep a tally of,” he said, his back flexing as Tony went over the exact spot he’d found before. Was Tony doing that on purpose? 

“Did you like it?” Tony asked, his tone curious, his fingers spreading out to Steve’s sides.

“Yes,” Steve said, resisting the urge to squirm a little. He didn’t remember being this ticklish—although not many people had tried to tickle him, so he might have been. If Tony would just use a little more pressure, it probably wouldn’t bother him at all. “Very much.”

“Did you come?”

“Later,” Steve said, meaning to be self-conscious because they were talking about him masturbating—but flinching instead as Tony brushed over another ticklish area. He saw a flash of amusement in Tony’s expression. He _was_ doing it on purpose. “Tony, stop,” he said, reaching back to grab one of Tony’s hands.

Tony captured his wrist instead, pulling his arm further behind him so he had to arch his back. It wasn’t a harsh grip, and Steve knew he could easily get free if he wanted—but he didn’t want that, and his breathing quickened as he stared down at Tony, his other hand curling against Tony’s shirt.

“Why didn’t you get yourself off why you were blowing me?” Tony asked, and Steve licked his lips nervously.

“I don’t . . . I didn’t think about it.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “Was all of this for me?” He smoothed down Steve’s shirt with his free hand.

“What?” Steve asked, not understanding the sudden change in subject, his stomach muscles jumping under Tony’s touch.

“Did you go to all this effort with your appearance for me?” Tony asked, flicking at one of Steve’s buttons.

“I—yes,” he said, feeling ridiculously flustered, because it was one thing for Tony to know, another for him to call Steve out on it. He almost missed the tickling, because he’d been concentrating more on when the next attack would come than on the questions Tony had been asking, but now, there was nothing to distract him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tony said, but then he winked. “Not that I don’t appreciate the results. But you look gorgeous, whatever you’re wearing, and I’d much rather have you here as soon as possible than wait while you put on clothes I’m just going to take off a minute later.”

He could feel his eyes widen. 

“That _is_ what you want me to do, isn’t it, Steve?” Tony asked, casually playing with that same button again.

“Yes,” Steve said, hesitating only a second before he leaned forward, kissing Tony the way he’d wanted to for days.

It was just as good as he remembered, better, and he sighed into Tony’s mouth when Tony’s hand slid up the nape of his neck, hoping Tony would—

He moaned as Tony clutched a fistful of hair and tried to deepen the kiss even more.

Except Tony used his grip to draw Steve’s head back, away from him, and he opened his eyes, confused and worried.

“Wait,” Tony said, tightening his hold on Steve’s wrist, not pulling, just squeezing down. “I wasn’t done talking yet, and if I start kissing you, I won’t ever finish.”

He swallowed then nodded. 

“So as I was saying, I owe you one.”

“Tony—”

“I think you’re misunderstanding what I mean by that, however,” Tony said, and Steve paused.

“You think I’m referring to an orgasm. You gave me one; I should give you one back. Yeah, I’m not very hung up on reciprocity,” he said, and Steve jerked when Tony let go of his hair to rub at his nipple through his shirt.

“As a matter of fact, there might be times when I don’t let you come at all. Not for days,” Tony said, his tone contemplative. “I think I’d really like to see you desperate.”

“I can’t—” For _days_? He couldn’t seem to look away from Tony’s fingers. “Ever since the serum, it hurts if I don’t . . .”

Tony started using his nails. Steve twitched, biting his lip. Why did Tony touching him there feel so good?

“I need to come at least once a day,” he said in a rush, looking away, as if that would help when he was blushing bright enough to light the whole damn room. 

Tony stopped.

“But I can try,” he added, glancing quickly at Tony and then down. He didn’t want to disappoint him, and it’d been a while since he’d gone without masturbating. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad now, he thought, even as he remembered the heavy, sickening feeling that had spread through his body before he’d understood what he’d needed to do.

“Huh,” Tony said. “Really? Every day?” Then he shrugged. “Maybe you just need to be milked. We can experiment with that if you’d like, but it’s fine if you don’t want to. There are tons of other things we can do instead that I think you’d appreciate and that I’d enjoy just as much.”

Steve knew Tony was still talking, but he was stuck on the “milked” thing. Tony wanted to milk him. That was . . .

He had honestly never thought of that solution before—if it could be called a solution. For him, it’d always been A led to B, and then he’d go do whatever it was he needed to do; but Tony was talking about skipping A altogether, about _milking_ him—

_I think I’d really like to see you desperate._

“We could,” he said hoarsely, leaning forward just to feel Tony keeping him back, and he pressed into Tony’s fingers, wanting him to pinch harder. “We could try that.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, obliging him, and Steve grunted at the little bursts of pain, clenching his thighs restlessly.

“Yes,” he said, wondering how Tony would do it. Would he do it himself? Or use a sex toy of some kind? Would he—

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” 

Tony’s voice was amused, but the look on his face let Steve know how affected he was, and it gave him the courage to say, “Aren’t you?” to shift his hips closer, even if he wasn’t quite brave enough to rub against Tony, not yet anyway.

Tony grinned. “Hell yeah, I am. But I have to get a few things ready first, and like I said, I still owe you something tonight.”

Steve was tempted to ask about what “things” he needed to get ready, but that would have to wait until later. Tony had been teasing him this whole time about owing him, and he still didn’t know what he was referring to.

“What is it that you owe me?” he asked, point blank, so that Tony couldn’t play any more word games.

“Another blow job,” Tony said promptly, and Steve frowned slightly, confused. _Another_ blow job? Tony hadn’t given him a first blow job yet.

“Ah, I can see what you’re thinking, and I’m not talking about giving _you_ another blow job; I’m giving you the chance to give _me_ another blow job.”

Steve was surprised into laughing. “ _Tony._ ”

“What, you think I’m proud of my performance last night?” Tony looked mock-offended. “I just sat there like a lump. Now, you said that you enjoyed it, but still. That couldn’t have been very fun for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “You could’ve just asked, you know. You didn’t have to go through all of this.”

“Steve,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Steve, Steve, Steve. This isn’t for me. Well, okay, it is. But it’s mostly for you. Are you telling me you don’t want me to put you on your knees? You don’t want me force your mouth down on my cock?” he asked, his voice getting quieter and more serious with every word. “Don’t want me to choke you a little bit, until you can’t breathe and you’ve got tears dripping down your face? Because I’ve watched you,” he said, his hand moving from Steve’s nipple to his throat. Steve swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing under Tony’s palm. “And I think you’d feel cheated if I didn’t do that to you.”

“I—how did you—Tony,” he whispered, swaying forward.

“Ask me,” Tony said, his thumb rubbing back and forth along Steve’s jaw.

At first, Steve wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Ask him to do what? Put him on his knees? Choke him? The thought of asking made him fidget—because he was uncomfortable with Tony’s request, he told himself—and he didn’t know if he could do it, even as a sharp ache of want started to build in his chest. 

When it finally hit him what Tony was expecting, he flushed hotly, looking down, and yes, it was still embarrassing, but it seemed less daunting in comparison to ask for something so straightforward. “May I suck your cock?” 

“Of course you can,” Tony said and smiled.

They did it just the way Tony had said they would, with Tony standing and Steve on his knees at his feet.

“Put your hands on the back of my thighs,” Tony said, and Steve did. “If you need a break or want the chance to say your safeword, you just have to drop your hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Steve said, but he couldn’t imagine wanting Tony to stop. It was all he could do not to ask him to hurry, his breath already coming faster, even though they hadn’t done anything yet.

“Alright,” Tony said, pushing down the front of his pants, the material thin and loose, and Tony had been prepared. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, but it was unnecessary, because Steve was already leaning in.

He’d been honest with Tony when he’d said he’d liked giving him a blow job, running his hands up and down Tony’s legs while he’d bobbed his head up and down, tasting Tony and knowing his concentration was all on him. 

This wasn’t anything like that.

Last night, Tony had sat there, mostly passive as Steve had brought him to orgasm. Today, however, Tony was the one directing things, tilting Steve’s head just so with the hand in his hair and fucking his mouth slowly, the muscles of his thighs tensing and relaxing under Steve’s hands. Tony didn’t give him the chance to kiss or lick or do anything other than be someplace warm for Tony’s cock.

He moaned at the thought, the sound coming out thick and garbled by saliva, and Tony stuttered, saying, “Yeah, keep doing that,” as his thrusts came a little faster.

Steve tried, only stopping when Tony went too deep and Steve had to pull away, coughing, before Tony guided his head back, his hands warm on Steve’s cheek; or when Tony would pause for a few seconds, pushing against Steve’s gag reflex as his throat tried to flex and accommodate his cock, Tony’s dark eyes watching him all the incentive he needed to choke himself further. All the while, Steve kept his hands were they were, his grip probably too tight, but he couldn’t help it; he didn’t want to accidentally let go.

He made a sound of protest when Tony drew all the way out, but Tony said, “Shh,” and pushed his mouth toward his testicles. “Suck,” he commanded, and Steve did, licking and sucking in between gasps of breath, burrowing his face in between Tony’s legs and taking as much as he could, his cheeks and chin wet.

“Look at me,” Tony said, and Steve did, his sight made blurry by the tears that Tony had predicted obscuring his vision. Nothing hurt, but the tears had come anyway, and it made him feel helpless for Tony to see him this way, made his thighs clench together as his cock pulsed and dripped while he kept doing his best to please Tony.

“Fuck, you should always look like this,” Tony panted, sliding back into his mouth, his thrusts losing rhythm as he neared climax, and Steve wondered if he’d always feel like this, aching and wanting and being desperate to finish but unwilling to stop.

“Swallow,” Tony said just as he started to come, as if Steve had considered doing anything else, and his throat worked as he swallowed again and again. “Good,” Tony gasped, “You’re so good,” and Steve couldn’t explain why that made more tears well up, but it did, and he held onto Tony all the tighter because of it.

After their conversation on milking, Steve hadn’t been sure what to expect afterwards, so he kept his eyes down, blinking back the last of his tears as he fixed Tony’s clothes with shaky fingers, incredibly aware of the burn in his throat and the throbbing in his lips.

But Tony lifted his head, beaming at him, and he knelt down to kiss him, whispering things like, “You’re amazing,” and “Fuck, your mouth,” and “We’re doing that again,” that made Steve smile, even as he tried to ignore how hard he was, desire so acute, it was almost painful.

Which was why he groaned when Tony said, “Unbutton your pants,” and it took him three tries before he could get it right.

Tony laughed softly. “Eager?”

“Please, Tony,” he said, his voice cracking, and he didn’t know where to put his hands now that he was done with his task, so he kept them at his side, curled into fists.

“Shh,” Tony said again, and it made a shiver run down Steve’s spine. “Mmm, gorgeous,” Tony said when he pushed Steve’s clothes out of the way. He spent a moment looking, just looking, and Steve’s cock—dark red and already so, so wet—slapped humiliatingly against his stomach in reaction. Steve squeezed his eyes closed, but they snapped back open quickly when Tony touched the head of his cock with one finger, putting his other hand on Steve’s hip, keeping him in place. “You want it so very, very much,” Tony said as Steve shuddered, and there was no way he could deny it. “You should thank me for giving it to you,” Tony said, as he circled the tip, making Steve grunt, his hips jerking.

“Steve,” Tony said seconds later, lifting his finger and ignoring Steve’s raspy, “Tony, please.” He could see a strand of precome cling from his cock to Tony’s finger. “Thank me.” 

“Thank you,” Steve whispered hurriedly and nearly sighed in relief as Tony touched him again, bringing his thumb into play and pinching the head gently, more fluid bubbling up between the two digits. It made things low in his stomach clench to see them on him, to know that Tony could have him this on edge so quickly from so little.

“Again,” Tony said, rubbing at the slit with his thumb, pressing down harder with each pass.

“Thank you,” Steve gasped, his hips thrusting forward in order to chase a firmer grip—only for Tony to move away.

“Ah, ah, ah. If you can’t come like this, I don’t know that you really deserve to,” Tony said, his hand on Steve’s hip firm, and Steve let out a strangled sound when Tony started following the curve of where the shaft met the head of his cock, round and round, paying extra attention to the underside each time he passed until Steve thought he was going to go crazy.

“Please, please, Tony,” he begged, and he tried to be still, to grit his teeth and accept it, but it was impossible. 

“You’re not thanking me,” Tony said, as he went back to stroking just the head, adding a twist at the top so he dragged them through more of the precome that steadily kept leaking out, and Steve sobbed.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the muscles in his thighs and stomach spasming as he fought to not move. And then Tony’s other hand slid up from his hip to close over his neck, not pressing down, just resting against his skin, and Steve’s voice shook. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” he chanted, utterly sincere, his fingers digging into his palms. “Thank—”

His legs almost gave out completely when Tony stroked all the way down the shaft of his cock and then back up, and he thought Tony’s grip might have been all that kept from upright as he cried out, embarrassingly loud as orgasm took him completely by surprise. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body turned traitor as it twitched and trembled without his permission, the pleasure bursting through him in waves.

He’d never felt anything like it before—had never responded to anyone else like that before—and he reached out blindly, clinging to Tony to help him through it.

He was limp and slightly disoriented afterwards, and it took a while for him to get his bearings, to realize Tony was rubbing his back and humming a song under his breath.

He felt drained—happy and weirdly calm—but so, so tired, and he didn’t fight the urge to say, “Thank you,” one more time, his voice low and scratchy. Tony laughed, gently ruffling his hair.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 8/9/15: I would like to apologize to all my readers about the lack of update. I had a bad fandom experience on tumblr several months ago that made me wonder why I was in fandom at all if these were the type of people who were in it with me, and while I've tried to get past it, I really haven't felt like writing very much since then. I'm not discontinuing this fic or anything, but if people are wondering, that is what is going on. (I am writing in another fandom cause my pride won't let me drop out of a big bang I've signed up for, but it's like pulling teeth. Blurgh. I'm hoping that posting it will help me get my groove back, but we'll see.)


	20. Chapter 20

Tony’s shower had ten shower heads. Ten. Two in each corner, one hanging from the ceiling, and a handheld one in the more customary position about three-quarters up the wall. And Steve had thought the two in his bathroom were excessive—although, admittedly wonderful, especially after a long workout.

“Here, sit down,” Tony said, gently directing Steve down onto a tiled bench—a heated tile bench, Steve discovered. As a matter of fact, the wall was also heated, probably all the walls were, and while it seemed like a waste of energy, Steve could admit he appreciated the indulgence as he let himself lean back, watching Tony adjust some of the shower heads so they were directed at Steve’s body. He sighed as Tony turned on the water, which came out already at the perfect temperature. He’d missed Tony a lot during his time in D.C., but if he’d had to name something to come in second place, the tankless water heater would’ve been it.

“I need to wash,” Steve said, although he didn’t get up. He felt boneless. He did manage to raise his hand, however, resting it just beneath his collarbone, and he wondered if he actually sounded huskier than normal, or if that was just his imagination. He swallowed, savoring the sting in his throat. 

“Just rinse off,” Tony said, standing so he was in the middle of the rest of the spray. “You already took a shower earlier.”

That was true. A rinse was probably all he needed. Except . . . he really wanted to sleep with Tony tonight, wanted it more now than he had before even, and that meant not being sticky with sweat or smelling of sex, not giving Tony a reason to hesitate about having him there.

“I want to,” he said, forcing himself to sit up, but Tony’s hand on his shoulder kept him from rising any further. 

“Sit,” Tony said, frowning down at him until he seemed certain Steve would remain where he was. “Alright, if you’re sure. There’s no reason to have the two of us knocking into each other, though. I’ll take care of it.”

Steve glanced around the shower, which could have easily accommodated four more people without a problem, but he didn’t protest. He could wait until after Tony was finished.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything to keep him occupied, he thought, looking at Tony. He’d never seen him naked before, which seemed like a shame now that he had the opportunity, because Tony was very handsome. _Very_ handsome. 

Not that Steve hadn’t already known that, because he had, but it was different seeing Tony without his heavy metal band T-shirts or one of his business suits. Or the Iron Man suit, for that matter. He was much more muscular than Steve had given him credit for, with heavily corded arms, a thick chest that Steve had always assumed was due to the arc reactor but really, really wasn’t, and strong thighs. Tony was just _more_ somehow without his clothes, and Steve found himself licking his lips absently, his eyes going to Tony’s cock, as if he hadn’t just had in his mouth not that long ago.

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t pay attention to what Tony was doing until Tony was stepping closer to him and running hands through his hair.

“What are you—I can do that,” he said, jerking his head away, realizing Tony was shampooing him. 

“You can,” Tony agreed, managing to get ahold of him anyway. “I want to, though.”

 _But I should be doing that for you_ , Steve thought, because it felt like their positions were reversed. He should be the one rubbing the shampoo into Tony’s hair; it should be his hands carefully tilting Tony’s head back as he started to rinse him off. Steve didn’t think of himself as an old-fashioned Sub, but it felt wrong to just sit there while Tony was doing all the work. 

Or maybe it was just that he wanted to be the one taking care of Tony for a change, Steve thought as Tony carefully wiped a trail of water from his forehead before it could reach his eyes. It just always felt like Tony was the one doing things for him and not the other way around. Sure, Steve had known Subs who'd dreamed about being pampered by their Doms, but he’d never been one of them. He’d always worked hard for all the good things in his life, and he couldn’t stop the niggling feeling that if he didn’t _earn_ Tony, then he’d be taken away from him.

 _So get off your damn ass and_ do _something, Rogers!_

Except Tony had said he wanted to do this. 

Okay. Shit. Okay. Steve had waited this long; he could wait a few more minutes. 

He sat quietly as Tony reached for the conditioner and tried not to shiver at the feel of Tony’s fingers massaging his head. He found himself staring up at Tony’s face, even though they were both naked, even though there were other things that should’ve grabbed his attention. Tony wasn’t even looking back at him, focusing on his hands and what they were doing, and that oddly felt right to him, at least for that moment. It felt like permission to look his fill, without Tony asking why or what he was doing, and Steve soaked it all up while he could.

His breath hitched audibly when Tony soaped his neck, and Tony’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t say anything. He rubbed Steve’s shoulders, sure and firm, even with all the slipperiness, and Steve made a sound when Tony found a particularly tight spot, blushing right afterward. It seemed . . . decadent . . . to sit there and let Tony take care of him, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Tony’s fingers traced each curve and dip as he washed Steve’s right arm and then the left, lingering over Steve’s hands, digging into his palms and squeezing each finger. It felt amazing, and Steve wouldn’t have thought a massage would make him start getting hard, but then, he was naked, and Tony was naked, and Tony was touching him. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised he was getting hard, even though he'd just had an orgasm; maybe he should be surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

He tensed when Tony started washing his nipples, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers, Steve’s breath becoming unsteady the longer Tony focused on them. Just when he started arching into Tony’s touch, unable to keep still, Tony finally moved, sliding his hands back up to the curve between Steve’s neck and shoulders. Steve’s eyes fluttered as he looked up at Tony.

“So you said you need to come once a day,” Tony said, arching an eyebrow. “Just once?”

Steve shifted his weight, although he was careful to not dislodge Tony. He had the absurd impulse to cross his legs or hide his erection somehow, as if Tony couldn’t already see it for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting Tony to feel obligated to let him come, especially since Tony wanted to see him _desperate_. 

“Oh, don’t ever feel like you have to apologize for getting hard around me. I take it as a compliment.” Tony grinned and winked. “But back to my question. Just once a day, or do you have to come more frequently?”

“Just once,” Steve said, but he found himself wondering. It’d been a long time since he’d felt anything like the way he felt for Tony, and he honestly didn’t know how that would affect him. During his recent mission, he’d masturbated more frequently than normal, but that might’ve been attributable to anticipation rather than necessity. If Tony planned on teasing him, however, until he was allowed his one orgasm—assuming Tony gave that to him instead of milking— _milking_ —him after all—then Steve had no clue how his body would handle it.

Tony hummed thoughtfully, his fingers gently massaging the back of Steve’s shoulders. “Out of curiosity—and I ask this purely in the name of science, you understand—how frequently _can_ you come? In twelve hours, let’s say.”

“I don’t . . .” Steve took a breath. “I’ve never tried to figure that out.”

“What, really?” Tony asked, and Steve didn’t understand how he could look so surprised. “Even when you were a teenager? You never locked yourself in your room and kept at it until you just couldn’t anymore?”

Steve didn’t know if this was actually the oddest conversation he’d ever had with Tony, but it was definitely high up there in the list.

“You know what?” Tony said before Steve could respond. “It doesn’t even matter that you don’t know the number. All it means is that we should figure it out.”

“Tony—”

“No, wait. Just listen for a sec,” Tony said, as if he knew what Steve had been planning to say, which would’ve been impressive since _Steve_ didn’t know what he’d been planning to say. “We’ve got your baseline of one time per day. That’s your bare minimum. But you have to take into account the circumstances, right? It’s once a day when you’re single, but what about when you’re with someone?” Tony asked, and it was kind of surreal for Steve to hear his own thoughts echoed back to him from Tony of all people. 

“It was still just once when I was seeing Peggy,” Steve said, and he felt a pang at the thought of that period of his life, but the conversation was too strange to really dwell on it.

“Yes, but you weren’t—” Tony cut himself off, but Steve could fill in the rest of sentence himself. “Besides,” Tony said, squeezing gently, in apology perhaps for the words he hadn’t said, or in an effort to comfort Steve, “I like to perform my own experiments, especially when it’s this important.”

Steve smiled involuntarily and let himself move past the mention of his previous relationship. “Knowing how many times I can orgasm in twelve hours is important?” 

“Of course it is!” Tony said, his hands flying up in exasperation, and Steve immediately missed them. “You tell me it hurts if you don’t come, and then expect me to believe that throwing in all of this—” Tony said, waving at himself, “—doesn’t change your minimum? I mean, I suppose it’s possible, but even discounting my incredible good looks, sex with another person is very different than sex with yourself, and without data to back you up, I refuse to believe it won’t alter things. So, yes, I do think it’s important, since what kind of Dom would I be if I didn’t keep you healthy and happy?” 

A surge of affection replaced the amusement Steve had been feeling. It had taken a long time to believe Tony when he said things like that, but now, it just made Steve fall for Tony all that much more. Sure, they were still stumbling around each other, but Steve was so glad that he’d come back to New York, that Tony still cared for him, and he opened his mouth to say as much—

“I’m not saying I should build you a fucking machine or anything,” Tony said, and Steve’s jaw dropped a little, all his thoughts scattering. “Although that is a possibility. Would you like that, Steve?” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side. “If I built something like that for you?”

“Wh-wh-wha—” Steve cleared his throat. “Tony—”

“Do you know what a fucking machine is?”

“ _Yes_ , Tony,” he said, flushing and looking down.

Tony lifted his head back up until their eyes met. 

“I’ve never built a fucking machine before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it once or twice, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. I mean, they sound good in theory, but it’s one of those things you'd only pull out in a blue moon. No one _really_ wants to be fucked for hours at a time regularly. Right?” Tony said, and even without Tony’s hand under his chin, Steve didn’t think he could’ve looked away at that moment.

“Can you imagine how uncomfortable that’d be after a while? After the first orgasm even. You’re all finished and so, so sensitive, but it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even slow down. It just keeps fucking you, over and over again, and you just have to lie there and take it, because there’s nothing you can do. And eventually it starts feeling good again, slowly but surely, but you know that it’s just going to be worse the next time,” Tony said, and Steve was barely able to hold back a shiver at his words, at the image they were painting in his mind. “So maybe you try to keep it together. As long as you don’t orgasm, it’ll still feel good, right? So maybe you squirm around a little so it’s not getting you just right, or you try to concentrate really hard on the itch on your foot in order to distract you, but eventually, you can’t fight it anymore, and that’s the second orgasm. But what about the third one, or the fourth? Because there’s going to be another one and another one after that; my design won’t get tired, after all, won’t get bored—although, who would in this case—so it doesn’t matter how long you can stand it. I would wreck you,” Tony said, his fingers brushing against Steve’s throat as Tony pulled his hand away, making Steve swallow convulsively.

“Although I don’t think it would take that long. I like to cheat after all,” Tony said, winking, immediately making Steve wonder what Tony would do. How did you cheat with a machine like that? 

Maybe Tony would make it vibrate? Steve had seen discreet ads for vibrators in Submissives’ magazines back in his day, and he could admit to a being curious about them, although he’d never gone so far as to order one. Maybe Tony would—

He gave himself an internal shake. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about this. They hadn’t even—they’d only—fucking machines of all things.

_You’re all finished and so, so sensitive, but it doesn’t stop._

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Tony clapped his hands suddenly.

“But anyway, we were in the middle of getting clean. Up on your feet now and face the wall. I want to wash your back.”


	21. Chapter 21

Tony enjoyed the stunned look on Steve’s face, probably a little too much really, but who could blame him? Steve and a fucking machine. A machine that Tony had built for him. 

The things he was going to do to him.

He’d always known Steve was more than just his wholesome exterior, but he hadn’t known how much more, doubted Steve really knew the answer to that question either since it wasn’t as if he’d had a chance to explore much, what with the war and everything that had happened after. But even if Steve had fallen on the lighter end of the scale, had been the type of Sub to only want a slap and a tickle, some light bondage maybe, and alright, a hint of choking, Tony would’ve been alright. Sexual compatibility was important, but having Steve—no matter how short the time—was everything.

Still, it was a relief that Steve seemed more adventurous than that. Just how much more was yet to be seen. He couldn’t imagine Steve as being too hardcore, but stranger things had happened. Whatever Steve wanted to try, though, Tony was more than willing to do—there wasn’t much that fazed him, even if he didn’t get off on all of it. What he did get off on was turning his partner into a mess of sensation, and no matter what Steve eventually asked for, he’d do, because better it be him than someone who wouldn’t have Steve’s best interests at heart, who wouldn’t take care of him half as well. 

The fucking machine, though, ohhh, he was definitely going to enjoy that. 

He watched as Steve got into position, taking one last look at Tony before facing the wall. Tony glanced at his shoulders, and yeah, there was a line of tension there, although they weren’t stiff enough to make him concerned. It was always nerve wracking to put your bare back to someone for the first time, not knowing what exactly they’d do and unable to see them in order to prepare yourself for when they did it. That was alright, though. He planned on making sure that Steve only associated good things with being this vulnerable for Tony.

He started simply, skimming soapy hands across Steve’s shoulders, his neck, with tracing the span of his back and following the curve of his spine. He appreciated the quiet groan Steve let out more than he could say, the drop of Steve’s head as he offered himself up to Tony. Steve was so fucking gorgeous that it hurt his heart to look at him.

It made Tony glad that he’d already gotten his orgasm out of the way, because it left him clear headed enough to be able to explore as much as he wanted. Not to say he was unaffected by Steve’s nakedness and proximity, by Steve’s reactions to his touch and the thoughts of what he’d like to do to the him. But who knew how much time he’d have left with Steve now that they’d started to have sex, how long he’d get before Steve decided he’d had enough and wanted to move on? So Tony had to memorize the feel of smooth, heated skin over shifting muscle as he washed him while he still could, the sounds Steve made and the sight of the soap running in trickles down his back. The clock had started ticking down, and Tony needed to hoard every second to his chest to dwell over later when Steve was gone.

“Put your hands on the wall,” Tony said after he’d finished rinsing Steve off, and even though it was physically impossible for him to get an erection just yet, his cock throbbed all the same at the thought of what was next. “And one knee up on the bench,” he added when Steve had done as requested.

He smiled, quite innocently he thought, when Steve looked over his shoulder at him, but perhaps not quite innocently enough if the the way Steve’s eyes widened were any indication. Still, Steve did it, taking a deep breath and resting his left knee on the tile, hesitating for a second before adjusting his stance to leave himself open without Tony even having to ask. 

Tony let out a silent whistle, stepping back to take in the view, the long, clean lines of him, the quite frankly amazing ass, his for the taking. 

It wouldn’t do to stare for too long, however, not this first time, although Tony had plans for one day, wondered if Steve would agree to lounging around naked for Tony’s viewing pleasure, would bend over and hold himself open for Tony to take advantage of—or not—as he saw fit. Tony wouldn’t want him to get bored, of course, so maybe a vibrating cock ring to keep him focused and nipple clamps that tugged ever so sweetly whenever he moved. Tony couldn’t decide if he’d prefer to leave Steve’s ass untouched and waiting for him, or if he wanted to split him open on something huge, so he’d cry with gratitude when Tony took it out, but maybe he’d do both. 

One day.

For now, though, Tony adjusted the shower heads again so they wouldn’t wash away the soap too quickly but still provided enough water to make everything slick and re-lathered his hands. Then, wanting to give Steve warning but also wanting to make him relax a little, he said, “I think I’m in love with your ass,” ignoring the voice in his heart that said, _with you; with all of you_ as he stroked down Steve’s back.

It garnered a quick laugh out of Steve, although he didn’t say anything in response. He did, however, tilt his hips up so his buttocks came to rest perfectly in Tony’s palms, and that was—wow.

Wow.

Steve was remarkably patient with him as he “washed” this particular body part, squeezing and kneading and just watching the way it exposed Steve so beautifully to him. Tony had every intention of making it up to him, of course, although . . . perhaps Steve wasn’t being quite so altruistic as he’d first thought, Tony realized, listening to Steve’s breath catch.

Fuck, Steve was going to be the death of him.

“Tony?” Steve gasped as Tony dipped in between his cheeks and started rubbing him softly there.

“Got to clean everywhere,” Tony said, circling his fingers again and again, the muscle twitching in response. Steve always seemed to run a little warm, but he felt almost hot at the opening to his body, and Tony had to close his eyes for a second at the thought of being inside of him. 

It was surprising—okay, not really—when he started to get hard in response.

A shower was hardly the place for having penetrative sex for the first time together, however, so Tony ignored his growing erection and focused on the delightful way Steve squirmed under his hand instead as he teased. He never exerted enough pressure to actually push in, although he hinted at it more than once, Steve arching unconsciously into Tony’s fingers, his hole flexing as if it were trying to suck him in. It was tempting, though, so very, very tempting, so Tony switched to his thumb and concentrated on sliding his fingers along Steve’s perineum instead, occasionally brushing against his balls as he rubbed against Steve’s prostate from the outside, something Steve rather enjoyed if the way his breathing turned ragged was any indication.

“Lean forward,” Tony said, putting his other hand to the back of Steve’s neck and enjoying the sharp gasp followed by the drawn out moan as he guided Steve’s head until it was resting against the wall. Only then did he shift his other hand again and push the tip of his middle finger inside, Steve making a guttural sound in response, his standing leg trembling.

“You like that?” Tony asked, pulling back out in order to do it again. “Yeah, of course you do,” he said, satisfaction heavy in his voice. He didn’t mean to sound quite so smug, but Steve’s shivered in response, and oh yeah, Tony could work with that. 

“You want more, Steve?” Tony asked, pushing in a bit further, careful to only go as far as Steve’s body seemed ready for—which wasn’t very far actually; Steve was tight, and the soap had washed off long ago. 

Steve made a noise that Tony was sure to remember for a long time, and then he started wriggling his hips down, taking Tony in deeper and whining in the back of his throat as he began fucking himself shallowly on Tony’s finger. 

Tony had planned to say more, but he found the words frozen on his tongue as he watched Steve try to take what he wanted. He wondered if Steve was going to feel the burn from this later, or if Steve fucked himself enough in the privacy of his own room that he’d barely notice . . . and that thought was not very conducive to staying clear headed, fuck. 

He had plans, damn it! He’d intended to eat Steve out until he fucking _cried_.

But the idea of pinning Steve down and finger-fucking him was appealing too.

Decision, decisions.

Fuck it. 

He’d just have to do both.

Tony pulled his hand away with more than a little regret, especially when Steve groaned in disappointment and started turning his head towards him. Tony stopped him by squeezing down with the hand on Steve’s neck and saying, ”Don’t move.” He liked the position Steve was in and wanted him to keep it, even if Tony wasn’t holding him in place. Maybe it’d be easier to finger him first and then rim him, but Tony hated the taste of lube. “You stay where I put you.”

Steve outright shuddered at that, and all the fight drained from his shoulders, leaving him limp and receptive.

Well, shit. That was . . . unexpected. Did Steve like the command? The tone? The words themselves? Tony was going to have to think about that more when they were finished, but for right now, he had things to do. 

He squeezed his hand one more time as a reminder before lifting it off Steve and grabbing the shower head. 

“What’s your safeword?” he asked as he ran the stream of water over Steve, getting rid of whatever remaining soap there might be.

There was a short pause before Steve cleared his throat and said, “Honor.” Tony knew that checking in could break the mood for some Subs, but he couldn’t regret asking. Steve was so inexperienced that he felt he had to remind him his safeword was there if he needed it. Not that Tony thought he would, but just in case.

He hung the shower head back up and angled the other ones away so he wouldn’t drown, and then he got down on his knees. 

Steve _gasped_ , shocked and so, so loud when Tony spread him open, pressing his lips around Steve’s hole and licking with the flat of his tongue. Sure, he could’ve eased him into it a little more instead of diving in, so to speak, but Steve was already keyed up, and besides, where was the fun in that?

The noises Steve made as Tony ate him out . . . fuck. Steve sounded _obscene_ , overwhelmed and desperate, like the best part of a porno with none of the acting behind it. He kept jerking away with pained whines, like he couldn’t handle it, and then coming right back, opening up under Tony’s tongue and flexing around him. But while Steve’s hole was starting to relax, the tension in the rest of his body just increased, his muscles getting more and more rigid until his thighs were nearly damn well vibrating. But no matter how far gone Steve was, he never moved out of the position Tony had demanded of him, kept his hands right where they were on the wall, and Tony rewarded him for it, reaching up to tug and pinch at Steve’s nipples—doing it even harder when Steve just got louder in response.

He didn’t think he’d ever been with someone who enjoyed being rimmed as much as Steve did, and it spurred Tony on to new heights as he fucked Steve on his tongue, as Steve started grinding against his face to get him even deeper. 

What got to Tony the most was that Steve sounded so _surprised_ by all of it, like he’d never thought anyone would do this for him before, or like he’d just hadn’t realized how good it could feel, and Tony—

He knew that Steve would always remember him, but he didn’t want to just be Steve’s first, he wanted to be the _best_ , the one who mattered the most, and while he wouldn’t get that emotionally, he damn well was going to get it sexually.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said, and even though he’d only heard it once before, Tony thought he could recognize the note in his voice that meant he was about to come, so he eased off a little. He honestly didn’t know if Steve’s leg would keep him upright if he orgasmed, and while Tony could catch him, it wouldn’t be without some collateral damage, which was the reason—the only reason, and not because Tony wanted Steve out of his mind, really—that made him keep winding Steve up, getting him close enough to orgasm that _Tony_ nearly felt like coming—only to slow down, again and again, over and over.

Tony’s jaw ached by the time he stopped, and his tongue was numb, and getting to his feet took a lot of willpower, luck, and holding onto the wall since his legs were half-asleep, but he managed it. He was still doing better than Steve, who was a shivery mess and looked dazed and like he would’ve fallen down if the wall weren’t holding him up.

He was easily the most gorgeous thing Tony had ever seen. 

“It’s alright. I know, I know,” he said, as he put Steve on his knees on the bench for the next part, his ass about waist level to him. Even though he wasn’t actually saying anything of meaning, the tone seemed to reassure Steve, enough that Tony could take a step back and spill half of the lube getting his fingers coated, but whatever, he could buy more. He rested his left hand on the back of Steve’s neck, not for Steve for once, but for himself, needing the contact, the illusion of control, and then he pushed two fingers into Steve, closing his eyes at the sensation.

Any calmness that Steve had attained went flying out the window, and Steve let out a sharp cry, humping back onto Tony’s hand and sobbing out loud. It might have been mean of Tony to start out with two from the get go, but Steve had been so relaxed from the rimming, and it didn’t actually take long before he could bottom out, Steve pleading shamelessly all the while. Tony let him, too caught up in the slick slide, the feeling of Steve clenching down on him, to do more than shush him softly, although when he started brushing against Steve’s prostate, even that stopped working, if it had ever helped in the first place. Tony had to actively push Steve’s head down instead of just resting his hand there as Steve’s body jerked and spasmed, and he fucked him like that for a long time, mesmerized by the sight of his fingers splitting Steve open. 

“ _Please,_ Tony,” Steve begged, his voice cracking, despairing, and Tony didn’t doubt that if he could see Steve’s face clearly, he’d find traces of tears. It made him wonder what Steve would do if he teased him for real, edged him for hours on end. Considering that temper of his, would he get angry? Or cling to Tony and weep? He’d beg, Tony knew, would beg and do it so prettily that Tony would be tempted to give in. 

Of course, Tony was going to give in now, and Steve wasn’t half as desperate as he could be, although he probably felt like he’d never wanted anything quite so much. But then, no one had ever teased Steve like this before, so he didn’t understand what Tony _really_ wanted to do to him . . . 

Considering this was Steve’s first time, however, it’d be cruel to deny him any longer.

Not that anyone had ever accused Tony of being nice but still.

“Yeah,” Tony said, adding another finger and rubbing against Steve’s prostate mercilessly. “Yeah, show me how much you like being fucked, sweetheart,” he said tenderly, taking his hand off Steve’s neck in order to reach around and finally touched Steve’s cock, although only to cup the head a little so it’d brush against his palm each time Steve rocked forward, and Steve made a sound like Tony was killing him.

Tony had known Steve was ready to come, but he hadn’t known _how_ ready, Steve shooting off less than two seconds later. Tony worked him through it, though, stroking his cock for real, even if he probably didn’t give it the attention it deserved. He was too caught up in the way Steve kept clenching around him, the aftershocks of his orgasm lasting for so long that if Tony had been there for his most recent climax, he would’ve thought it’d been weeks since Steve had one.

“That’s right,” Tony said, slowing down and gradually coming to a stop, lingering inside for a few seconds before pulling his fingers out gently. “Just like that, Steve. You were perfect for me.”

He spent some time just petting Steve and telling him how well he'd done, easing Steve down and letting Tony keep touching him. After all of that, he was achingly hard, but there were more important things to tend to, like Steve's knees, which, since Tony had just been on the ground himself, he was sure needed a break, so he helped Steve turn until he was sitting on the bench. Once he was certain Steve was more comfortable, he turned the rest of the spray toward him so he’d be warm, and then he sat next to him, pressed to his side, slowly stroking his thigh while he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, remembering how it felt to have Steve squeeze tight around them.

“You doing okay?” Tony asked, once Steve started looking more alert.

“Yes,” Steve said hoarsely, but he looked tired—peaceful mostly, but like he didn’t have any energy left, and Tony had been there. A really intense orgasm could knock a person out, and Steve had had not one, but two in the span of a short period of time. He looked at the end of his rope.

“Good, ready to get out?” 

“But you . . . I didn’t . . .” Steve looked at Tony’s erection, which hadn't gone down as much as he would've liked, but then he hadn't exactly been thinking the purest thoughts, had he? 

“What did I tell you about not being hung up on reciprocity?” Tony asked, standing up to shut the water off and then opening the shower door. “Trust me, I’m not one for quiet suffering. I’ll let you know when I want you to do something, alright?” Or he would anyway, when Steve was able to handle it.

Steve’s eyes searched his, and whatever he saw there made him sigh and smile tiredly. “Alright,” Steve said, and he accepted the towel Tony handed him, his fingers brushing against Tony’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe these last three chapters have been all porn, but there you go.
> 
> Also, why is this fic so long??? Why, why?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys. I've been sitting on this chapter for a few weeks, intending to write more, but life is working against me. So have this for now, I guess, and I'll try to write more soon. And by soon, I mean faster than 5 or 6 months, really. >_>

Steve woke up full of energy, starving, and incredibly aroused. It was an odd combination, and not one that he’d experienced many times in his life. The first two conditions were easily explained away, and the third—

_Show me how much you like being fucked, sweetheart._

Well. That was easily explained as well. 

Oddly enough, it turned out that thinking about the reason why he was so aroused just made the problem worse, and he needed to stop if he ever wanted to be decent. 

_Sweetheart,_ Tony’s voice whispered in his head again like a fading echo, and he could feel his cheeks burning, which was a ridiculous reaction to an endearment. 

Even if was the first time Tony had ever used one. 

Still, it didn’t mean anything, not really. Steve knew some people said all sorts of things in the heat of the moment, and while he wouldn’t have pegged Tony as the type, it wasn’t as if he knew _what_ Tony was like in bed—something he looked forward to rectifying as soon as possible.

Speaking of which, he needed to get up if he—oh. He was in Tony’s room.

Steve didn’t know how that fact could’ve slipped his mind since he would’ve sworn he’d been tired but not _that_ tired earlier. But then, he’d been so focused on Tony that he hadn’t really paid attention to where Tony had taken him.

He tried not to get his hopes up just because Tony had let him nap in his bed. It’d obviously made more sense to leave him there than take him all the way to his own room after all, and it wasn’t as if letting him rest there was the same as inviting him to spend the night. 

Still, Tony couldn’t have known that he’d wake up, could he? Steve could’ve been out for the night, and then what would Tony have done? Woken him up? He frowned. It was a distinct possibility. Or Tony could’ve slept in another room, he supposed. There were several empty guest rooms, and he knew that Tony also had a bed in his lab. But . . . surely Tony wouldn’t have put Steve in his bed if he hadn’t wanted him there.

The memory of Tony saying, _You stay where I put you,_ came out of nowhere, and his cock, which had gradually been softening while he pondered potential sleeping arrangements, decided to perk up once again, slapping against his stomach at the recollection of Tony’s words. 

Maybe, he thought, staring down at his cock which had seemed to acquire a mind of its own, Tony had been right about his minimum changing.

He certainly wasn’t going to do anything about that now, however, he decided resolutely, getting off the bed. He’d ask to spend the night, and Tony would or wouldn’t say yes, and then they’d go from there.

He glanced at the clock, which read 8:14. With any luck, Tony wouldn’t have eaten yet, and they could have dinner and then . . .

 _Later_ , he told himself sternly when his cock just got that much harder, and he got up to find his clothes and finally get dressed. Or maybe not, he thought, remembering Tony’s comment about milking, and shit, was he going to get goosebumps every time he thought about it from now on? He’d gone from never considering it to basically counting the seconds until it happened, and he really, really needed to stop. Later was later, and hopefully, Tony would want to do . . . something. And if not, well, Steve apparently was looking forward to that too. But whatever Tony wanted, Steve did have one request of his own. 

Tony had said he shouldn’t worry about reciprocation, but that was impossible. He didn’t know about nowadays, but when he was growing up, Doms came more frequently than Subs. It was just one of those things, a way for Subs to serve, and Steve . . . he wasn’t going to be a bad Sub, didn’t _want_ to be one, and honestly, he looked forward to wringing as many orgasms out of Tony as he could. He felt antsy at the thought of Tony being unsatisfied, even if Tony said that he didn’t need an orgasm. Needing and wanting were two different things, and while Steve had gone along with Tony’s wishes, when it came down to it, he just didn’t want to leave Tony with an erection. Not when he was perfectly willing and eager to take care of it with his hands, or his mouth, or if Tony just wanted to use him, Steve would be happy to bend over or ride Tony or let him come on his— 

Maybe he should just take another shower, he thought ruefully, his cock throbbing. A _very cold_ shower. 

But he knew he didn’t have the time for it, not if he wanted the chance to join Tony for dinner. So even though his erection still hadn’t gone down, he arranged himself as well as he could, which was pretty well all things considered—being in the Army had been useful for all sorts of things—and then made his way out the door.

\-----

“Steve,” Tony purred as soon as saw him, and Steve didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the heat in Tony’s voice and the slow drag of his gaze as it traveled down Steve’s body were better than anything he would’ve anticipated.

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Steve said, faltering as Tony got closer and wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist. He had just enough time to think, “Why didn’t I brush my teeth?” before Tony was pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, making his eyes flutter closed.

“My fault,” Tony murmured against his skin, and really, was dinner that important? They could always eat afterward. “I shouldn’t have worn you out.” he said, pulling back, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“You didn’t wear me out,” Steve protested, although the huskiness of his voice didn’t do anything to support his claim. “I was still tired from my mission.”

“Is that so? Then I’ll just have to try harder,” Tony said, moving back, his hand sliding around to Steve’s stomach, dangerously close to his trapped erection. 

“You do that,” he said, all false bravado, because he didn’t actually know if he’d survive Tony trying harder, but he was all for finding out.

Tony grinned. “C’mon. You must be hungry. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Steve followed Tony to the kitchen and watched as he lifted the lid of a bubbling pot and stirred the contents. They smelled amazing.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” he said, impressed.

“I excel at many, many things, Steve,” Tony said, raising the spoon with a flourish that had red sauce splattering everywhere, “but cooking isn’t one of them. I can, however, make a mean pot of boiling water,” he said, taking another lid off a neighboring pot to demonstrate. 

It turned out that Tony had ordered in, so all they had to do were the finishing touches, like adding pasta to the water and putting the garlic bread in the oven. There was a lot of food, including an antipasto dish, a large salad, several different types of cheese, and even a tiramisu for afterward, although Steve had other plans for once dinner was over. 

Steve hadn’t known just how hungry he was until he started eating. Everything tasted amazing, and Tony seemed intent on feeding him, nudging plates closer to him and smiling every time Steve took another serving of something. It was tempting to eat everything in sight, especially with Tony keeping up a steady stream of chatter between his own bites, stories that didn’t require more than the occasional acknowledgment on Steve’s part. He knew, however, that if he ate too much, he wouldn’t be in the mood for sex, and there was no way he was going to let that happen. So he controlled himself, eating enough for two men instead of three, and by the time he put down his fork, he didn’t feel too full.

“Finished?” Tony asked, and the way he immediately abandoned his own plate told Steve he’d been eating mostly to keep him company rather than due to hunger.

“Yes,” Steve said, pushing away from the table with purpose.

“Would you like some dessert?” 

“No, thank you,” he said, starting to clear the table.

“Coffee?” 

“No, I’m fine.”

“After-dinner mint?”

He sent Tony a sidelong glance. Tony winked at him.

It didn’t take long to clear everything, and the dishes could wait overnight, he decided. Tony watched him as he worked, exuding sex from where he was semi-sprawled in his chair—although Steve could admit that was perhaps due to his own fervid imagination rather than anything Tony was doing—and Steve could feel the tension ratcheting up with each passing second.

It was embarrassing how eager he was, but he just . . . he honestly had no idea what to expect, but he wanted all of it. All at once. Immediately. It was ridiculous, but he wanted everything _right now_ , and even this short wait was killing him. 

Especially with Tony just sitting there. Looking at him.

He finally stood up when Steve had finished putting everything away. “You up for watching a movie?”

Steve blinked. “What?” he asked faintly. He must have misheard. Tony couldn’t have said—

“Is that alright?” Tony asked, taking a step towards the living room.

“I—yes, but—” They frequently watched a movie or played games after dinner, so there wasn’t anything particularly unusual about Tony’s request, but . . . 

“I thought . . .” 

But today wasn’t a typical day, and Steve wanted—

Tony smile then, soft and amused, and stepped closer until their bodies were almost touching. “You thought right,” he said, gently tugging Steve’s head down until their foreheads were resting against each other and he could feel Tony’s breath across his lips. “I’ve got _plans_. Now come here.”

“Okay,” Steve whispered and followed blindly behind him.

Tony asked him if some movie was alright, and Steve agreed without even hearing the name. He didn’t care what they were going to see. All he cared about was getting his hands on Tony.

But as Tony dimmed the lights and settled down like they were actually just going to sit there and watch a show, he wondered if Tony’s plans included making him wait until he was ready to claw his way out of his own skin. If so, it wasn’t going to take long. Steve knew that anticipation made things better, but he was already so keyed up that it was starting to feel like torture. And he knew, he _knew_ that that wasn’t Tony’s fault, that he’d brought himself to this point, and it wasn’t like he’d actually been waiting for that long. He’d had his orgasm, and then he’d taken a nap. And eaten dinner. But.

“You look uncomfortable,” Tony said, his head tilted to the side, one arm resting on the back of the couch. “Why don’t you relax a bit, take some clothes off.”

Steve’s mouth parted, but there was no way he’d misheard. Tony had definitely said what he thought he’d said. It looked like he wasn’t going to have to wait after all.

He stood up and slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, just in case . . . what? Tony didn’t want to see him naked? He had no idea, but he started slowly for whatever reason and then never sped up, because Tony was _looking_ , was looking and not even making a pretense of watching the opening sequence, which Steve could hear faintly on his left. It was nowhere near the normal level of loudness that Tony preferred, which meant Tony had lowered the sound when he’d set everything up.

Plans indeed.

“What’s your safeword?” Tony asked, and Steve twitched in surprise.

“Honor,” he said, and Tony nodded.

He half-expected Tony to tell him to stop at some point, he didn’t know why, but Tony didn’t, so Steve didn’t, and he was naked by the end, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot. 

He’d never call himself shy, but he definitely felt self-conscious. Sure, he’d been naked for Tony just a few hours ago, but he hadn’t been the only one with his clothes off, and Tony had been a lot closer. He felt distinctly vulnerable standing up there for—well, for Tony’s viewing pleasure. 

Was it wrong of him to like it so much?

Steve was used to being the center of attention. It hadn’t always been good attention, people staring at him as he yelled at someone bigger than he was or gawking as he got beaten up, but after the serum, people had generally looked because they wanted to, and he could admit that he’d enjoyed that. 

He’d never enjoyed it quite like this, however, the weight of Tony’s gaze like hands roaming over his body, the knowledge that there was almost nothing Tony could ask him in this moment that he would say no to making him feel almost helpless to his and Tony’s desire.

“Come here,” Tony said, his voice low and gravelly, and he held his hand out to Steve, spreading his legs. 

Finally.

But when Steve would have happily gone down to his knees, Tony stopped him, using his leg to drag the ottoman over so it was snug against the couch, and then he turned Steve so his back was to him and guided him down. Steve ended up in the V of Tony’s legs, reclining on the ottoman against Tony’s chest, his body highlighted by the light from the screen.

“That’s better,” Tony said, leaning back.

It was, and it wasn’t, because while he could feel Tony’s erection pressing against his back and have Tony’s arm across his chest, he couldn’t touch him back or see him, which wasn’t anywhere close to what Steve had been hoping for.

Tony wasn’t even naked. Although . . . there was something a little exciting about that fact, that Steve was just on display. That he could feel fabric and leather against every inch of his back and buttocks. That Tony had access to any part of him he wanted . . .

Except all Tony seemed to want was to use him like a human blanket. It took all of Steve’s willpower not to say something. He had to remind himself that the night wasn’t just about him. Tony wanted this; Tony had plans. And if he were being honest, he wanted to go along with Tony’s plans.

He just hadn’t realized how much waiting would be involved.

“Watch the movie,” Tony whispered, and Steve could hear the smile in his voice.

He wanted to say that he tried to pay attention, but it would’ve been a lie. Ten minutes later, he still had no idea what was playing, and he didn’t care. He didn’t bother Tony, however, didn’t move all over the place, or sigh, or drum his fingers, or do anything else to express his impatience. He did take several deep, calming breaths, though. If Tony wanted to use this time to actually watch the movie, even though he had a naked and willing Steve on top of him, then who was he to complain?

He _wanted_ to complain. Very much. But . . . it would’ve been selfish. And rude. Of the two of them, he’d been the one to have the most orgasms—although he’d tried to give Tony another one—and Tony had been an extremely generous lover. 

Crap, he didn’t think he would ever _not_ get hard whenever he thought about the shower.

He did shift a little restlessly then, but he stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. No one had ever rimmed him before. He’d known that people enjoyed it, but it was like trying to explain why ice cream was so delicious versus giving someone an ice cream cone and letting them discover it for themselves. There was just no comparison. More than once, he’d thought his legs were going to buckle from how good it’d been.

And when Tony had fingered him . . . Steve didn’t remember it ever feeling like that before. He didn’t usually do it to himself when he masturbated, because it was a lot of effort for something that was over with fairly quickly, but if it had felt like _that_ back then, he would’ve done it more. _A lot_ more.

It made him wonder what it’d feel like when Tony went all the way. He’d only ever had anal sex the once—well, a few times with one person—and it’d been nice. Good. 

But not anywhere near to as good as Tony’s fingers had been.

Of course, that was when _Show me how much you like being fucked, sweetheart,_ popped into his head again, and maybe it was a good thing Tony couldn’t see his face, he thought, his cheeks flaming. Although if Tony were looking at his cock, he’d know he was thinking of something. 

That was arousing too, though, the idea that he couldn’t hide anything from Tony, that every jerk and shiver were out in the open for him to read. By that point, though, everything seemed exciting, even the knowledge that it didn’t matter how affected Steve was, because he was waiting on Tony.

It made Steve want to squirm, but he kept still. He stayed where Tony had put him.

And fuck, that thought just insured he was going to go crazy before the night was through.

“Just what are you thinking about?” Tony asked, curious and amused, and Steve froze. Which made it easier for Tony to run his fingertips through the little puddle of pre-come that was on Steve’s stomach. Steve’s cock flexed, as if offering itself up, but in vain.

“Good things, I presume,” Tony said, holding his fingers up so they glistened in the light from the television.

“Yes,” Steve rasped out, mesmerized by the sight, feeling like every nerve in his body had come alive from the mere possibility of Tony’s attention.

“Maybe I should have you tell me about them.” Tony turned his fingers back down and dragged them up Steve’s chest as the muscles in his torso went rigid, painted now with trails of moisture.

He couldn’t even imagine speaking his thoughts aloud—although, of course, now that Tony had suggested it, he couldn’t _not_ think about it, about having to tell Tony every single thing he’d hoped Tony would do to him, about how humiliating it’d be to reveal some of his base desires.

Never mind some of the fantasies he’d had over the years.

“Yes,” he gasped and nearly came all over himself then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Also, all the apologies to all the people who've left comments that I haven't responded to. There was a while there where I thought I was done with fandom and couldn't get the energy to respond, but I'm going to try. Months and months and in some cases _months_ late, but I'll try...


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to meece for betaing parts of this chapter.

Steve learned a lot about himself in the next few weeks. He learned that he actually had very little patience when it came to … many things; that Tony could get him hard and aching with just a filthy, filthy smile; that pain could be very good indeed—and he would never forget being bent over Tony’s lap that first time, trying to muffle his sounds into the cushions as Tony brought his hand down over and over again—that he hated and loved nipple clamps in equal measure; and that the minimum number of orgasms he needed in one day could go up after all.

He discovered that last bit when he’d been sent out on a two-day mission, and Tony had been delighted when Steve had told him, so obnoxiously pleased with himself that Steve almost regretted saying anything. Except then Tony had decided they needed to increase Steve’s minimum to _three_ , and Steve had spent most of the next few days in a sexual delirium. He’d finally had had to put a stop to it so he could function—he still didn’t know how he’d missed two calls from SHIELD, and it was lucky they hadn’t sent someone to check up on him—but the first chance they both had some guaranteed vacation time, he definitely wanted to do it again. 

And again, and again … 

The things that Tony did to him, that he made _Steve_ do … he hadn’t known. Oh, he’d imagined plenty, and truth be told, he’d hoped for a lot, but Tony was more creative than he’d ever been. And Tony was _evil_.

Take, for instance, the nipple clamps. That first night in front of the television, they hadn’t even gotten to Steve admitting all of his fantasies, because Tony had discovered that pinching Steve’s nipples over an extended period of time made him so needy that Steve had broken the ottoman in an attempt to keep from touching himself. Tony had taken advantage of that knowledge frequently ever since. In and of itself, that would’ve been bad enough, but Tony had bought him several pairs of nipple clamps, some plain, but most of them decorated with jewels or chains or even little bows, and he kept telling Steve how gorgeous they made him look, how plump and perfect his nipples were, and it never failed to make him flushed all over, shivering with desire and shame.

And the milking! He thought milking might be the bane of his existence. It felt so good to start out with, _so_ good, Tony’s fingers inside of him, pressing and rubbing . . . The sensations would build up, everything spiraling upward, pleasure turning sharp and aching—and then it would seep away, leaving him unfulfilled, like a promise, broken, heightening the yearning but taking away the need. He’d seek out Tony that much more frequently as a result, only to have Tony toy with him once again, drawing everything out until he felt like a strand of taffy at the edge of breaking apart. Only then would Tony let him climax, when the tension had ratcheted up exponentially, so it felt like an explosion when Steve finally came, and he was ruined in its wake.

Tony seemed to know exactly what buttons to push, and he hadn’t even—

Steve’s face burned just thinking about it, and he shifted in his chair.

Tony _knew_ that Steve wanted—and Steve realized he could ask but he hadn’t because—

At this point, it just seemed like something he had to be good enough for, something he had to earn, a reward, he supposed, and while Tony had fucked him with his fingers, his tongue, had even brought out a few toys that made Steve rub his thighs together in remembrance, Tony still hadn’t gone all the way.

And Steve thought about it. Thought about how Tony felt in his mouth, how thick he was, how it felt when Tony fucked his throat, and how much harder and deeper he’d go when he didn’t have to be quite so careful. He thought about how good it felt to have something inside of him, how it made everything so incredibly better, and then he thought about being on his knees, his head pressed to the ground by Tony’s hand on the back of his neck, the nipple clamps jangling with each thrust—

Steve had to give himself a mental shake, adjusting his napkin to make sure his lap was covered, even though no one could actually see under the table. He had to stop doing that. Especially at work. SHIELD’s cafeteria was not the place to be entertaining thoughts of Tony.

He was almost finished with his lunch when he heard, “Well, well, look who’s here,” and he looked up to smile at Natasha.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” he said and hoped he didn’t look as flustered as he felt.

“Yeah, well, things in Botswana went a lot faster than expected, so I get to lounge around for a few weeks before I have to go out again,” she said, setting her tray down across from him.

“That’s just because I did all the work,” said another voice, and Steve glanced back quickly. He hadn’t even noticed Clint. “What’s up, Steve?”

“Clint, hi,” he said, surprised but pleased. He hadn’t seen Clint in months, but he was one of those people that was just easy to be around, their interaction seemingly picking up right where they left off each time they got together.

“Sure, Clint. _You_ did all the work,” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. “And by work, you mean standing around and looking pretty to keep the target occupied.”

“It’s hard to look this good all the time, Nat,” Clint said unperturbed. “You wouldn’t understand, considering your unfortunate lack of looks,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “but for the rest of us, it’s a constant battle to stay this sexy.” He took a big bite of his sandwich, his cheeks bulging out. 

“Yes, yes, I can see that,” she said thoughtfully. “You’ve got a little something …” She gestured to a dab of mustard on his cheek.

“I’m saving it for later.”

“Attractive and smart. How did I get to be so lucky?” she asked, and Steve found himself smiling at their easy banter.

“So I hear you decided to settle down in New York, Steve,” Clint said after wiping his face. “Couldn’t stay away from the Big Apple, huh?”

He glanced at Natasha, wondering if she’d told Clint about him and Tony, but from the way she raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, he guessed she was giving him the option of telling Clint or not. He cleared his throat. It wasn’t the first time he’d told someone by any means—Dr. Saunders, Nick, Natasha, even Peggy—but it still made his heart speed up a little whenever he announced it, the fact that he and Tony were finally together. “Well, Tony’s here.”

“Really,” Clint said, glancing at Natasha and then back at him. “ _Really._ ”

“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks warming, even as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Well, congrats, man! I thought something might’ve been going on, since you looked a lot happier than the last time I saw you.”

“I am happy,” he said and had to pause. It was a weird realization to have. He was happy. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, just … happy. 

\-----

“You look like shit,” Pepper said, and Tony groaned, slouching down in his chair and letting his head loll back. “Seriously, you need to take better care of yourself, Tony.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine; you look exhausted. When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

“When do I _ever_ get a full night’s sleep?” he asked and dodged the hand that had been reaching for his forehead. “I’m not sick, _Mother_ , and okay, that is a weird association to have. I’m getting Oedipal flashbacks. Look what you’ve done.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re not sick, and you’re not working on anything in particular,” she said, and he cursed the fact that he’d admitted as much to her already, “then what’s running you ragged?” Her tone made it clear that she already knew the answer.

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not Steve’s fault.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to say a word when you’ve got that look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“You do have a look.”

“I don’t have a look!” she said. She coughed. “But if I did—”

“Pepper—”

\-----

“So things are going well between you and Tony,” Natasha said, looking pleased.

“They are, yes,” Steve said, and it was nice to have a chance to talk about it with someone, even if Clint had never been on his list of confidants before. He still didn’t have a therapist in New York, though, and while he went back to DC when he could to visit Peggy, it wasn’t regularly enough to see Dr. Saunders. He’d discussed Tony a little with Peggy, enough to know she approved, but he hadn’t felt comfortable talking to his former lover about his current lover, and Natasha typically had longer missions than he did, so their schedules didn’t match up frequently. Other than the two of them, the last person he’d talked about dating to had been Bucky—

And well, that wasn’t an option anymore, he thought, his thoughts turning melancholy for a second but without the intense longing he used to feel at any thoughts of his past, more of a soft nostalgia and a wish that things had turned out differently, that he could’ve had all his loved ones together, safe and happy.

“I’d hope so. From all the stories I’ve heard, he’s supposed to know how to keep a smile on a Sub’s face. What?” Clint asked, when Natasha smacked his arm. “I’m just saying he’s the type of guy to spoil his Subs with presents. What did _you_ think I meant?” He winked at Steve. 

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“I am a delight. You know, speaking of lavishing Subs with gifts—”

“No,” Natasha said and turned back to Steve. “So does that mean I should expect to see you two in the news some day soon? Or are you keeping things quiet for a while?”

“We’re keeping things quiet,” Steve said. Before he’d ever come out to New York, Dr. Saunders had made sure he realized what he’d be getting himself into. He hadn’t thought about the significance of what it meant to be dating a public figure, hadn’t thought about the fact that Tony _was_ a public figure, since it was just Tony after all. 

Except it really wasn’t. 

She’d pointed out that Tony was on the news all the time, was linked with stars and musicians and Subs from all over, and it was always the same gossip of were they or weren’t they, and how long would it last this time? While Captain America would be recognized on the street, most people didn’t know who Steve Rogers was. Everyone, however, knew Tony.

He’d been prepared to throw himself into the three-ring circus, but so far, it hadn’t happened. He and Tony had never actually discussed it before, but Tony didn’t push for them to go out, even though he was much more social than Steve was. When they did venture outside together, it was to remote areas where there was little chance of them being seen, let alone recognized. Tony went out of his way to make sure they had the time and space to just be together, out of the limelight, and it was another kindness on top of a mountain of them already. 

How long was long enough, though? They’d been living together for over a month now, and he’d still never taken Tony out on that date—even if he did have a good excuse as to why he’d been more than a little distracted lately. He still wanted to, however, but how was that supposed to work if they were keeping things a secret? 

It didn’t.

“But don’t be surprised if you see something about us soon,” he said, spur of the moment, but it felt like a weight lifting from his shoulders. 

\-----

“You’re obviously not happy, Tony.”

“I’m _fine_ , Pepper,” he said and knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Fine is not happy.”

“Fine isn’t _not_ happy either.”

He let out a sigh at the look she gave him. 

“It’s not his fault that we want different things,” he said tiredly.

“Alright, but it _is_ his fault for leaving you and then coming back when he knows it’s going to mess you up.”

He swallowed. “To be fair, I never came out and told him how I feel.”

“Tony,” she said, covering his hand with her own. “I hate to tell you this, but you are not a subtle person. You’ve done everything but write it across the sky. If he doesn’t know, it’s because he’s purposefully being blind.”

He stared at her mutely, and her eyes softened with sadness.

“He keeps hurting you, Tony.”

He shrugged uncomfortably, wanting to pull away, wanting to shut his ears and ignore her, but it was like he was frozen to his seat.

“Don’t you remember what it was like after he left?” she asked, and it was funny to think she’d been the one to push him towards Steve back in the beginning, considering how opposed she was to the idea of them together now. Too bad he wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah.”

“You were drinking. All the time.”

“Pepper—”

“You refused to see anyone and just holed yourself up in your house.”

“I know.”

“You lost weight, and you never smiled, and you—”

“I said I remember, Pepper!” He immediately regretted being short with her. She had every right to remind him. She’d been the one to pick up the pieces after all.

“Maybe he doesn’t mean to do it,” she said, so carefully blank that it obvious how likely she thought that was, “but he does it anyway, and what are you going to do when he leaves again? When this whole learning period of his is over?”

He looked away, wishing he had an answer, but what was there to say? He’d do the best he could, even though he knew his best wouldn’t be good enough. It was what he was doing now, after all.

“I just—I just worry about you, Tony,” she said, her hand tightening around his.

“I know you do,” he said roughly, because even though they hadn’t worked out as a couple, he knew she loved him. Whatever else happened, he could always count on that. “Thank you.”

\-----

“I saw Natasha and Clint today,” Steve said as Tony was dishing himself some salad. 

“Yeah?” he asked, looking up. “How are those crazy kids doing?”

“Good. They’re in town for a couple of weeks, and I was thinking we should invite them over.”

Tony blinked at him. That was … did that mean they knew about him and Steve? 

Steve wasn’t the type of person to lie about something like this. But he wasn’t the type to blurt out details about his personal life either.

“Sure, anytime you want,” Tony said, wondering if he should ask—not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Steve smiled, happiness making his face brighten. “If Pepper’s still around, she should come too. I haven’t seen her at all since I’ve been back.”

Tony busied himself with pouring wine into both their glasses. “It’s a busy time of year for the business unfortunately. She was planning to fly back to LA tonight, but she says ‘hi’ and is sorry she missed you.” Because she wanted to punch Steve in his face, he didn’t add. 

He’d wondered if Steve had noticed that neither Pepper nor Happy had been by since Steve had come back, and apparently he had. He was just glad Steve didn’t know that two of the most important people in Tony’s life both hated Steve for what his leaving had done and would do to Tony in the future. That sometimes Tony resented him for it too.

“That’s too bad,” Steve said regretfully, and they moved back to discussing Natasha and Clint. 

Seeing how excited Steve got about the prospect of them coming over, Tony realized Steve had to be pretty lonely. As far as Tony knew, Steve hadn’t made many friends in New York before, and he’d left everyone he’d been getting to know for the past year in DC. The only support network he really had was Tony, and that was just depressing.

He doubted Steve was even seeing a therapist anymore, now that he thought about it, or if he was, he never talked about it or kept any kind of regular schedule. Tony forgot sometimes how much Steve had left behind to be with him, and while it was all still there for when Steve went back, it had been a big sacrifice all the same. Steve had never gone into any of it with the intention of hurting him, Tony knew, and he felt guilty for the momentary spike of bitterness from before, especially since he’d accepted the consequences of them being together a long time ago.

He took Steve to bed not long after, even though it was hours before either of them slept, edging Steve until he was a pleading, sobbing mess. 

He knew that Steve wanted him to fuck him. He didn’t think Steve realized just how obvious he was about it, even if he didn’t come out and say the words directly, and in the overall scheme of things, it didn’t mean a lot—while simultaneously meaning everything.

Tony enjoyed sex in all its various forms and couldn’t say that he had a particular favorite, because there were advantages to handjobs, just like there were for blowjobs and frottage and penetration. But Steve wanted it _so much_. And while Tony hadn’t set out to deny him in the beginning, it now felt like this _thing_ that was looming over their heads, and as soon as Tony gave it to him, it’d be the beginning of the end. 

So Tony fingered him until he cried, or tied him up so it was logistically impossible to do anything else (even if they both knew Steve could break free in a second if he wanted) or Tony rubbed his cock all over Steve’s face and neck before coming across Steve’s outstretched tongue, and felt like he was avoiding a time bomb for a few minutes more.

It couldn’t last this way forever, though. And even though Tony dreaded Steve leaving him, he could admit there was a tiny part of him—exhausted from all the stress and worry and hoping and all the ups and downs—that was looking forward to it as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to apologize to all my readers who left comments that I never responded to. I try, I try to write back to each and every one, but there was a period where I was really detached from fandom, and at this point, it feels ridiculous to respond to a comment from 5 months ago. I'm so sorry. I fail. *hangs head in shame*


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...have some, haha, tentacle sex. >_> For those of you that aren't into that sort of thing, this chapter adds maybe just a teeny tiny smidge to the story, if that, so please feel free to skip. 
> 
> For those of you that are REALLY into tentacle sex, prepare to be disappointed, because I did not go very hardcore on this. I know, what even, right? I just wanted to write it. But then got tired of writing it. So. Yeah.

Tony didn’t know why the idea of Clint and Natasha coming for lunch made him so possessive, but it did. It made him completely, irrationally, and ridiculously possessive. He’d tried to ignore it at first and pretend the event wasn’t hanging like a black cloud on the horizon, a sure harbinger of doom. When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to convince himself that there was nothing they could or would do that’d make Steve leave him any sooner than he was already planning. And when _that_ hadn’t worked either, Tony had said fuck it, and that was how he found himself in his current situation.

They’d gone to his property upstate, and he’d told Steve they were going to train. And they had! For a little while at least, with Steve winning the first round and then the second, because Tony had been a little preoccupied, either running last-minute diagnostics—again—or just distracted by thoughts of what was to come. 

Eventually, however, Tony had dotted all his i’s and crossed all his t’s, and it’d been time to get started.

“Tony?” Steve gasped, the first word he’d said since Tony had grabbed him from behind and sped off with him, and Tony squeezed him reassuringly. Well, as reassuringly as he could, he supposed, considering he had Steve pinned against him, Steve’s back to his chest, with his arms trapping Steve’s to his sides, and they were hovering a few hundred feet in the air. Oh, and Steve’s shield was on the ground.

“What’s your safe word?” he asked, checking with JARVIS that he was picking up on Steve’s vitals now that they were so close. There was a definite element of risk to what Tony wanted to do, and while he trusted Steve to tell him if something was wrong, he had no intention of hurting Steve accidentally.

On purpose sometimes, sure, but that was different.

“Honor,” Steve said, immediately, no trace of hesitancy in his voice, and the show of Steve’s trust in him went a long way in soothing the stupid worry that had been bothering him for the past week about Clint and Natasha. Not enough to make him change his plans, of course, because Tony had gone to a lot of effort getting everything ready, and waste not, want not and all that, but still. “Tony, what are you doing?”

He didn’t want to tell Steve that he was making sure that there wouldn’t be a second tomorrow that Steve wasn’t thinking about him, no matter who else was there, so instead he said, “I thought you’d like to give bondage a little try.”

“Really?” Steve said, his tone oh so dry, but there was definite uptick in his pulse rate.

“Yeah, see, I don’t own anything that could keep you trapped for long,” he said, at least, not yet anyway. He had some orders in. “Not to say you _couldn’t_ get out of this,” he said, giving Steve another squeeze, “but it wouldn’t be in your best interests. Accelerated healing or not, no one wants broken bones.”

“So, what? You’re just going to keep me here ‘til I say ‘uncle?’”

“Um, something like that,” Tony said and initiated the program TENTACLES1.

It’d been a tossup between going this route and finishing up the fucking machine. The problem with the machine, however, was that it wasn’t exactly personal. To really get the most bang for your buck, a person had to be strapped in for _hours_ , and there was a certain expectation of isolation to a degree, like Tony could be in the room with Steve, but he wouldn’t be actively participating. 

And sure, while the idea of Steve remembering how he’d been fucked again and again and _again_ had a lot of appeal, Tony wanted him to think about _Tony_ doing it and not just something he’d built. Which was how the tentacles had won out. Not that there were that many; just two. He hadn’t wanted Steve to freak out after all, so the other ten were staying rolled up. And not that Tony would actually be doing the fucking, since he was just directing things, but still. It was closer to the real thing than the alternative.

“T-Tony?” Steve said, and his heart rate had gone up significantly.

“Shh,” Tony whispered as Four slid down the front of Steve’s pants and Six went down the back. He congratulated himself on convincing Steve he wouldn’t need the costume for some light training. Going through the neck opening would’ve been a bitch.

\-----

There were _things_ touching him, cool and kind of slimy things that felt incredibly strange as they glided over his skin, and while the one in front was simply resting against his soft penis, the one in back was wriggling and starting to—

“Tony, what—?”

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but he found himself breathing hard and squirming in order to get out of the way of whatever it was that was _moving_ and trying to do who the hell knew what—it couldn’t be what Steve was thinking; it couldn’t—and maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he could see what they were, but Tony’s arms kept him from looking, and—

“You keep that up, and I might accidentally drop you,” Tony said, and Steve froze. Tony wouldn’t—Steve _knew_ Tony wouldn’t let him go.

And yet.

Before taking the serum, Steve had never really fantasized about being overpowered. He hadn’t hated the thought of someone being able to manhandle him, but it hadn’t been something he looked for either. His dreams had centered around a Dom who’d treat him with a firm but just hand, one that wouldn’t be upset because he had his own opinions or who felt like he needed to fade into the background. He’d wanted someone who wouldn’t be afraid to push his boundaries but also wouldn’t be disappointed when they hit them either, who wouldn’t haven’t felt like Steve was a failure just because his body couldn’t do everything he wanted it to do. 

Now, well, there weren’t exactly a lot of people who _could_ force him to do anything, and Tony definitely wasn’t one of them. In a battle of strength, Steve could win without even breaking a sweat, but here, in this situation—

“That’s it, Steve. Just take it,” Tony said, his voice distracted and almost condescending, and oh _fuck_. Steve eyes clenched shut, his legs spasming as the one in back pushed into him. 

It burned going in, but nowhere near as much as he would’ve thought considering the circumstances and how tense he was, and even though there was pain, it didn’t exactly … hurt. 

No, he thought, shame keeping his eyes closed as his cock reacted to having something inside of him, nevermind that it was something cold and foreign, the thing pushing steadily deeper before finally stopping. It didn’t hurt at all.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Tony said, as if he somehow knew how Steve’s body was reacting—

Tony knew _exactly_ how his body was reacting, he realized numbly, as the thing which had been still until that point began to move as well, slowly winding around his cock, undeterred when his cock flexed again and again at the strange sensation, until the end of it came to a rest on the head of his penis. 

“Tony,” he whispered, and even though the bottoms of his arms were technically free, as were his legs, he felt weak, trapped, as if his body couldn’t move at all. 

He hadn’t fought when Tony had knocked into him from behind, disoriented just enough that Tony had them both in the air before he could react. He hadn’t protested then either, just rolled his eyes, assuming that Tony wanted to do a victory lap of some kind before he put him back down. Even when Tony had finally stopped flying and made it clear that Steve wouldn’t be getting down any time soon, Steve hadn’t been too concerned, because he’d thought, how bad could whatever Tony was planning be? 

And then the-the _things_ had come out, and Steve _still_ hadn’t done anything, and even now, intellectually, Steve knew he had his safeword, knew he _could_ fight and that if it’d been anyone other than Tony doing this to him, he would’ve gotten free, damn the consequences. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was Tony, and he wanted to give Tony whatever Tony wanted, because he—

“Shh,” Tony said, breaking his chain of thought, and then the things started to vibrate.

“ _Fuck!_ ” It was too much sensation all at once, and he wasn’t ready for them, for how strong the vibrations were, how fast, and Steve convulsed, yelling—

But there was no where to go, no way to escape.

“That was really loud,” Tony said, sounding amused, and the shame pulsed inside of Steve. “What if someone hears you, Steve? What if someone _sees_ you?”

No, no. They were—Tony wouldn’t—

“I mean, sure, it’s unlikely,” Tony said, and Steve had to swallow back the shriek that wanted to rise from his throat as the vibrations got even stronger. “But we’re above the treeline, and with the way you’re moving around and how you’re carrying on, a person would _know_ just from looking that something’s happening. Is that what you want, Steve? For someone to know what I’m doing to you?”

He shook his head rapidly, unable to talk, because if he let even so much as one sound past his lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop any of them. He didn’t want that. He didn’t. 

So why did the idea make him clench and shudder all over?

“You have to be so quiet then,” Tony said, lowering his voice to a whisper, until Steve could just hear him over the mechanical hum. “So still. Can you do that for me, baby?” he asked as the vibrations went up another notch. 

Steve tried to nod, tried to acknowledge Tony’s request, but he didn’t know if he succeeded, orgasm turning everything hazy and white.


	25. Chapter 25

Tony hadn’t known what to expect from brunch.

“Come here,” he panted, grabbing Steve’s face and pulling him down for one kiss, for two, kept kissing him until he felt drunk with it and then kissed him some more.

He’d thought that _maybe_ Steve had told Natasha and Clint that they were in a relationship, but he hadn’t counted on it.

They kept bumping into walls and tables as they made their way to his bedroom, even heard something shatter at some point, but Tony didn’t let Steve pull away, didn’t care about the collateral damage because he needed to have Steve now.

Steve, who’d not only told Natasha and Clint that they were together, but had been willing to show them as well.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, his temple, sucked kisses into his neck and shoulders and as Steve shivered against him, couldn’t fucking believe how _happy_ he was. He’d forgotten what it was like to be this happy.

It wasn’t that Steve had swept him off his feet or kissed him passionately or gotten on his knees in front of him, nothing so obvious. He’d just brushed his fingers over Tony’s shoulders in passing and smiled at him, sweet and easy, had sat next to him on the couch with the empty cushions on the other side of him a silent testament of what they were to each other, and it’d left Tony reeling.

It’d been a long time since Tony had felt anything close to hope about whatever relationship he and Steve had, and he hadn’t realized how heavy the weight of expectation had become. Steve was going to leave him. He knew it. Maybe it wouldn’t be today or tomorrow, but it’d happen soon enough, and Tony had woken up every morning with the end in sight.

Except … then brunch had happened, and Steve might not exactly have a lot of experience in this department, but he had to understand the significance of having Natasha and Clint over and being that open about their relationship. 

Didn’t he?

So maybe Steve hadn’t introduced hope so much as an element of doubt, but it was more than Tony had had in a long time, and he felt … didn’t know how he felt actually, his emotions jumbled together in a snarl that would take forever to untangle. He did know that he felt more _present_ than he’d had in weeks, though, like he was living the events around him instead of just watching from the sidelines, and it even made Steve more real to him. It felt like he was seeing Steve after a long absence and all the pent-up longing had finally burst free. 

“What’s your safeword?” he asked and couldn’t stop the sharp smile that bloomed on his face when Steve answered. 

Steve’s eyes widened at his expression. 

“Keep it in mind,” Tony said and drew Steve’s head down to demand one last kiss. Had it always been this good, kissing Steve? He honestly couldn’t remember. “On your knees now, Gorgeous,” he said, his heart filled to bursting as Steve complied, automatically putting his arms behind his back. 

“You were perfect today,” Tony said, and it was only the truth. “Are you going to keep being perfect for me, Steve?” he asked as he lifted Steve’s chin with his fingers, his thumb brushing over Steve’s mouth.

“Yes,” Steve breathed, licking his lips before taking Tony’s thumb in, sucking and rolling his tongue around it.

“I know you will,” Tony said softly, cupping Steve’s cheek. “Get your cock out, Sweetheart. Show me how much you like my fingers fucking your mouth.”

Steve’s eyes fluttering like that were a work of art, and Tony didn’t look away as he heard Steve’s belt jingle, as Steve’s arm started moving rhythmically. Not that he didn’t love watching Steve masturbate, but the sight of his hollowed cheeks, flushed red with desire and a dose of humiliation … how could Tony possibly tear his eyes away?

He switched to his first two fingers, leisurely thrusting them in and out, and waited until Steve was moaning, was tensing up, his arm going faster, and only then did Tony say, “Don’t come. But don’t stop either,” he said, smiling down at the expression on Steve’s face, and he slid his fingers out from between red lips. 

“Tony,” Steve said, his tone already containing a note of pleading, and Tony smiled harder, showing teeth.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Tony asked as he pulled his shirt up over his head. “You want to use both hands? Be my guest,” he said, walking over a few steps to one of the strategically located bottles of lube. He tossed it to Steve, who caught it easily.

He enjoyed the way Steve’s chest expanded as he took in a deep breath.

“Yes, Tony,” he said and poured lube into his hand.

Tony wanted to take his time, to give Steve the chance to ramp himself up more, but he found himself rushing through taking off his clothes, clumsy in a way he hadn’t been in years. He had to force himself to slow down, to just watch as Steve did everything he could to avoid making himself feel _too_ good, never touching the head of his cock, only using one finger to fuck himself with, going slowly enough that Tony was tempted to call him on following the letter and not the spirit of his instructions. He didn’t, though, because Steve loved and hated being edged, and his machinations were kind of adorable.

“Open up,” Tony said after he’d finally given himself permission to move back in front of him, and Steve stared up at Tony with eyes blind with lust, right before he took him in greedily.

Tony still hadn’t figured out if Steve had an oral fixation so much as a love of sucking cock—or at least, a love of what sucking cock did for him—but whatever the case, Tony appreciated the results. Steve couldn’t get Tony’s cock deep enough in his throat to satisfy himself, which wasn’t to say he didn’t try, again and again, his nose pressing against Tony’s abdomen as his throat spasmed around Tony’s length, Steve struggling to relax and fighting against it at the same time, because he _liked_ choking on Tony’s cock, too much for his own good. 

It felt amazing, better than it’d ever had, and it took an embarrassingly short amount of time before Tony was teetering on the edge of climax as Steve swallowed around him again and again. His hand came to a rest on Steve’s neck, and Steve moaned, the vibrations running up and down Tony’s cock as Steve pressed into Tony’s grip, silently begging for more. It made him want to forget his original plans. It was already going to be a long night after all, and what was life without a little spontaneity? He’d still end up using Steve to his heart’s content, because he wanted to, because Steve had given him permission to, and for once, Tony was inclined to believe him.

It wasn’t that Tony had ever been _unselfish_ in bed with Steve, exactly, because he had taken his pleasure and enjoyed each and every depraved thing he’d done to Steve. But he’d … tailored things to what he’d thought Steve would like the most, and it’d always been there in the back of Tony’s mind that he was fulfilling a role for Steve, that he had a job to do, no matter how much satisfaction he took in it.

This time, however, he couldn’t help but think that maybe it’d be alright to do something specifically for himself.

It was that thought that gave him the fortitude to pull back, his breath hissing out between his teeth as Steve tried to follow, sucking hard on the tip of his cock as if to pull him back inside. 

“Tony,” Steve said, panting like he’d run a hundred miles at full speed. The sounds his hands made as he worked himself were wet and filthy, his movements so much faster than before, and Tony wondered just how close Steve had been and if he would’ve remembered to ask for permission to come. Tony was almost disappointed he hadn’t waited to find out.

Still, it was never a bad thing to have Steve already frantic to orgasm before they ever really got started.

“Take everything off, and then get on the bed, face down,” Tony said, stepping back and intending to use the time it took for Steve to undress to dredge up some semblance of control—except Steve took all of ten seconds to get naked and climb on the bed, and there went that idea.

“Hold onto the headboard,” he said, and fuck, Steve was a thing of beauty as he stretched out his arms over his head, the muscles in his back moving smoothly. Tony thought he could stare at the dip of his waist for hours, the rise and curve of his buttocks, the firm lines of his thighs as he flexed against the bed. 

It should’ve made the urgency worse, but the longer Tony stared at Steve’s flawless body, the more he felt the need to lay some kind of claim to Steve, to leave his mark in any way he could, and it pushed the desire back enough for him to concentrate.

“Your safeword?” Tony asked again as he climbed over Steve, caging him in with his arms and legs.

“Honor,” Steve whispered, his hips rolling into the mattress, and Tony could see the goosebumps rising on his skin.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” Tony ordered, putting his hands on Steve’s bent arms, and he lowered his head.

The first bite was at the base of Steve’s neck, near his shoulder. Steve was so muscular that Tony’s teeth couldn’t sink in very far, but he enjoyed the heavy weight of him in his mouth, the tang of skin and sweat on his tongue. Steve gasped into the pillow, his shoulders tensing and then relaxing as he tilted his head to the side in order to give Tony more room.

The next bite was barely an inch away.

At one point, he had Steve pull up onto his elbows while still holding onto the headboard so he could pinch and tug at Steve’s nipples while he tasted him. Steve had already begun shivering each time Tony bit him, but at that, he started grunting as well, involuntary little sounds that had Tony’s head swimming.

“Do you want me to bite these delicious tits too?” Tony asked, using his nails, and Steve shuddered all over, thighs clenching together.

“Please, Tony,” he gasped, grinding down onto the bed, and Tony wondered if Steve was getting off on the pain, or if he was rubbing against the sheets in order to find some way to offset it. Steve had really gotten into the spanking, but biting was a different kind of pain.

It didn’t really matter for what Tony had planned, but it would be interesting to know.

“Please what?” he asked, squeezing harder with his fingers and then slowly licking his latest bite. It was more of a challenge to get a nice mouthful along the plains of Steve’s back—which was why it was all the more satisfying when Tony did it. 

Steve just shook his head in reply, a fast, jerky movement, but he pushed his chest further into Tony’s fingers, to use and abuse his sweet little nipples, and Tony supposed that was answer enough. Steve really was too good to be true.

It didn’t mean Tony couldn’t tease him though.

“‘Please bite my plump titties until they’re red and swollen for you?’” Tony asked, flicking Steve’s right nipple hard enough to make him flinch, his gasp soft and shocked. 

“Or ‘please, I don’t care where you bite me, as long as you keep doing it?’” he said, regretfully moving his hands away from Steve’s chest—although he’d hardly call it a disappointment to rest them on Steve’s hips. He inched down the bed so he could get a mouthful of Steve’s side, just above the rise of his buttocks. He didn’t have to be quite so careful there, and Steve’s breath hissed out as Tony bit him, his ass tensing appealingly under Tony’s palms.

“Or maybe it was a ‘please find other places to bite, soft, delicate places that have never had the threat of teeth anywhere near them,’” Tony said, moving his hands once again, this time to push Steve’s thighs open so he could fit in between. He didn’t bite him at all this time, just spread him open and lapped at a spot on the inside of one firm cheek, and Steve froze, tension humming through him.

“Which one was it, Steve?” Tony asked, letting his teeth graze taut skin, nipping gently, and Steve jerked like he’d been electrocuted. 

“Well?” he asked, when Steve continued to be silent, running his tongue over the back of Steve’s balls. He didn’t think he’d heard Steve make that sound before. 

“Just—” Steve swallowed. 

“Just what?” Tony asked, his eyes roaming over the canvas of Steve’s upper back, red marks— _Tony’s_ marks—covering his body in striking curves and ovals. They’d be gone in a few hours time, maybe even less, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Steve had let him do it in the first place, that the memory, if nothing else, would forever be etched into Steve’s being. 

“Just—just any of it,” Steve said hoarsely, slowly bending one leg to make himself that much more accessible to whatever Tony wanted to do to him. “All of it.”

“Is that right?” Tony asked, letting his fingertips, one after another, slide over Steve’s exposed hole, which flexed in response. “You sure about that?”

“Y-yes,” Steve said, then buried his face in the pillows, the muscles in his thighs and buttocks wracked with a fine trembling.

It filled Tony with tenderness, and he decided to let Steve keep his silence. “Up on your knees then, but keep your head down and your hands where they are,” he said and wasn’t surprised by the presence of the wet spot he found on the sheets where Steve had been, although the size of it did give him a momentary pause as he stared at it in admiration. If it hadn’t been enough to show that he didn’t need to worry that he was pushing Steve too hard, Steve’s cock, hanging full underneath him, would’ve done it.

Tony sat behind Steve and got his fingers as wet as he could with just saliva before leaning forward to rest his teeth where he wanted them, a perfect round mouthful of the inner, bottom curve of Steve’s ass. He paused for a second there, two fingers resting against Steve’s hole, so Steve would know exactly what he was planning and so the tension could ratchet up a bit—and then he started to bite down while simultaneously pushing into Steve.

The wounded sound Steve made in response had Tony’s cock aching, and not for the first time, he wished he had more hands since he obviously wasn’t going to withdraw the one fucking Steve, and his other one was busy digging into Steve’s ass and keeping him open for Tony.

He could admit that denying himself did make him feel a little sadistic, though, so he pushed three fingers into Steve—still a little loose and a lot slick from earlier—before he would’ve otherwise, and his next bite was meaner than the previous one. He didn’t draw blood, but he was tempted, Steve’s body oh so lush and resilient. There was just something about him that made Tony want to bite down hard, harder, as hard as he could, and he’d had to remind himself more than once over the past however many minutes not to get carried away.

He had to do it again when Steve shook, Steve’s cock making a wet sound as it slapped against his stomach, and fuck, Tony obviously needed to spend more time mapping out Steve’s pain boundaries, because he wasn’t anywhere close.

“Stop, oh, fuck, stop!” Steve gasped, hunching forward, and it wasn’t his safeword, so Tony just followed with his fingers, rubbing against Steve’s prostate even faster. “I’m going to come, please—”

“Ah, ah, ah, no coming without permission,” Tony reminded him, stroking over the impressive set of marks he’d left with the thumb of his other hand while he kept ruthlessly fingerfucking Steve, switching to four fingers to really stretch him out, which made it a little too dry since he hadn’t wet the last two. Steve didn’t seem to mind, if the noise he made and the way his thighs gave out so he collapsed on the bed were any indication.

“Then _please_ , Tony, please, please,” Steve said, chanted almost, “please let me come.”

“Just wait a little longer,” Tony said, pulling out and slapping Steve on the ass, once, twice, a third time just because he wanted to and because Steve sobbed so prettily and somehow always managed to spread his legs that much wider for it. “You’re so damn greedy,” he said, sounding too pleased by far, but perhaps he could be forgiven, considering how he felt for the first time in ages. “I love it,” he said and watched Steve melt into the bed.

He reached for the lube and dripped some directly on Steve’s hole, just to see to squirm, before lubing up his cock. It wasn’t that he didn’t still have concerns about taking this step with Steve, but they just … they didn’t seem to matter half as much as they used to, seemed foolish in the light of Steve’s willingness to be open about him and their relationship together. 

It was going to be okay. Somehow. Tony just knew it.

He shuffled up behind Steve.

“Tony?” Steve asked, looking behind him, his eyes getting larger and larger.

“You can come whenever you want,” Tony said, winking at him, and then pushed into Steve steadily as Steve tensed and moaned, not stopping until he was as deep as he could go.

“ _Tony_ , oh, Tony. Tony,” Steve said, shuddering, hips jerking under Tony’s hands. He distinctly heard a screech of metal, and he suspected Steve had just bent his headboard beyond repair, but he didn’t stop to check, too focused on the sight of Steve taking him in, on how Steve felt on his cock. For a man who’d been stretched out with four fingers, Steve was somehow still incredibly tight around him, and Tony wondered what it’d take to make him sloppy and loose—

Although maybe part of that was because Steve was coming, Tony realized hazily, as Steve clenched rhythmically around him, grinding against the mattress and gasping like he couldn’t get enough air, just from Tony pushing in.

Shit, Steve really was perfect. Tony loved him so fucking much.

He had to rest his hands on Steve’s back as the room suddenly tilted and take several long breaths. It wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, but he could feel how it could become one. Tony normally avoided thinking about his feelings at all cost, clamping down on those thoughts whenever they threatened to rear up, but the day had whittled down his defenses without him noticing. 

What was he doing?

One brunch wasn’t the same thing as Steve declaring his love for everyone to hear. Tony knew that, but he’d let a single event overshadow everything that had happened before it.

Was it any surprise though? He’d been drifting for weeks, stumbling through a half-life where he’d spent each day waiting for everything to crash down around his ears. And there was a large part of Tony that knew the reason he’d done it was because it was necessary, knew that every second that went by where he didn’t guard his emotions was going to make it that much harder to come back from it later, but it was impossible to shore up his defenses with Steve under him, with Tony’s marks covering his body, and he wanted—

He just wanted a chance to breathe without the weight of it all on his chest.

“Tony?” Steve asked, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder at him, and Tony somehow found a smile for him.

Maybe it was too much to ask for, maybe he was sabotaging himself so the knife would sink that much deeper later on, but then, he’d always been the king of bad decisions.

Couldn’t he have today? Just today. He’d loved Steve for so long. Surely he deserved one day to let himself love him as much as he wanted.

It was a struggle to wipe away all the doubts that were clamoring to be heard, but he concentrated on Steve, warm and eager beneath him, on remembering the feelings of surprise and budding joy that had clung to him all day. 

“Sorry, you just feel so good,” Tony said lightly, and it was fine. He was fine. “I didn’t expect you to come so soon,” he said, and it wasn’t much of a leer, but it accomplished what he wanted. Steve was beautiful when he blushed like that, but Tony couldn’t find it in him to appreciate it as much as he should’ve. 

“Not that I’m complaining, Sweetheart.”

He’d gone a little soft while he’d been having his freak out, but Steve apparently hadn’t noticed, which Tony could only be thankful for. It wasn’t as if he could explain that he’d realized he was even more in love with Steve than he’d been even a month ago, and the thought had devastated him.

“Although you realize you’ve set my expectations incredibly high now, right? Hands and knees,” he told Steve, because the headboard definitely needed to be replaced. Tony moved with him so he wouldn’t accidentally pull out, and Steve shifting around him was already making things a lot firmer. “I’m going to be disappointed if you don’t come that fast every time.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, sounding embarrassed.

“Oh, Steve, what have I told you before? You never need to apologize for wanting me,” Tony said, a pang running through him. “Now c’mon.” He reached around, fingers brushing Steve’s cock, not surprised when he found him still hard. Steve had always had a ridiculously fast recovery time.

“Let’s find out how quickly you can come again,” he said, but even though he’d given himself permission, it wasn’t the same anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, this is so damn angsty. What even happened? This was an excuse to write porn. Idek. 
> 
> I think I said I wasn't going to pull in the events of TWS, but I've changed my mind, so that's coming up next. I've changed the ending in my head at least 3 times by now, ugh. 
> 
> Less than 4 chapters left, guys. I'm serious. I'm getting this fucker done soon. I'm determined not to hit 100K words. Or even 90K. Maybe not even 80K, fucking hell. This damn fic.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter killed me, guys. I had so much trouble with it. I've been working on it for months, writing, getting stuck, coming back to it, deleting crap and then writing some more, etc., etc. but it just would. not. cooperate. I'm still not happy with it. Seriously. Months. Arghhhhhh. I've reached the point where I just decided to post it and then move forward from there. Wish me luck. This fic, I swear.
> 
> Also, for those of you who were worried, we're definitely going to hit 80K words. Maybe even 90K. Probably not 100K, though. >_> *is hopeful*
> 
> *is also realistic, however, and when has this fic ever cooperated, so if we hit 100K, then we hit 100K* *sighs*

Steve’s eyes popped open when he heard the first ring, and he reached out blindly, swiping at the screen before his phone could make any more noise. “Rogers,” he whispered as he got out of bed, trying to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. He could feel several small twinges down on his back as he moved—from Tony’s bites, he realized, a swell of contentment in his chest—but he couldn’t focus on them now. 

Tony made a murmuring sound, but when Steve looked back, he was still sleeping.

“Steve, there’s a hostage situation,” Nick said, and Steve gave himself one second to be selfish and wish this had happened on any other night before answering.

“I’m on my way.” He turned back to the bed. The conversation had been so short that he hadn’t even made it out of the bedroom yet. 

He walked back, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to Tony in order to say goodbye. It made parts of him ache and throb in a way that had his cock twitching as he flashed back to what they’d done, on what Tony had done to him.

Except it was a lot … wetter … than he’d expected, and he jerked back to his feet, his cheeks blazing as he realized what the problem was. The problem that was starting to drip down his thigh.

His ass flexed, just making everything worse, the line of warmth sliding downward that much faster, and damn it. He stared down at his rapidly hardening cock, feeling hot all over, and he hadn’t ever given much thought to what it’d feel like to have his Dom’s come leaking out of him, but he was pretty certain he’d be thinking about it in excruciating detail in the future.

“Hmm, getting started without me?” Tony asked, the huskiness of his voice moving things low in Steve’s gut, and he realized with humiliation that not only had he woken Tony with all his bouncing on the mattress, but he was standing at an angle that let Tony clearly see the outline of his erection, even in the dark. 

He immediately turned so he was facing the bed, although he didn’t know that it was better exactly, considering how close they were. While he’d intended to wake up Tony, he hadn’t imagined embarrassing himself as much as possible in the process. 

“Of-of course not. I—” He faltered as Tony moved so he could rest his hand on Steve’s leg, and Steve didn’t mean to flinch at the contact, but he did.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, his tone becoming sharper, demanding, and that didn’t help things at all. “Are you hurt?” Tony asked, his fingers moving upward before Steve could say he was fine, that it was nothing—

He made a humiliatingly breathy sound as Tony’s touch turned slicker as it traveled up the back of thigh, and he couldn’t stop the shiver as Tony painted him in trails of come. 

Tony paused.

“I’m not hurt,” Steve managed to say, but it came out strangled as Tony got up on his elbow, as he pulled Steve closer until his legs were hitting the mattress. 

“I see that,” Tony said, and there was something in his voice that made Steve’s knees flex, made him want to fall to his knees and suck Tony’s fingers into his mouth. “Sore at all?” Tony asked, wet fingers making an idle pattern on the inside of Steve’s thigh as they inched up higher and higher.

“No,” Steve said, almost a gasp as Tony leaned in, his breath puffing against Steve’s cock. He didn’t mean to whine as he felt Tony brush against the curve of his buttocks, but it was ticklish enough that it made his hole clench reflexively, and he hadn’t felt empty a few seconds ago, but he felt it now as he flexed down on nothing, more of Tony’s come dripping out of him as Tony teased him.

Tony’s fingers were _right there_ —

He shuddered as Tony rubbed against his opening lightly, his hands squeezing into fists—

There was an alarming crunching sound, and Steve jerked, looking down at his phone. Oh, shit. 

He pressed the power button with some trepidation, and the screen lit up, making it incredibly easy to see the cracks which hadn’t been there a minute before. That wasn’t good.

“Did you just—?” Tony started to laugh, his forehead coming to rest against Steve’s thigh, and Steve found himself smiling sheepishly as well, even as he wanted to cover his face in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he’d done that.

He glanced down at Tony’s head, just inches away from his cock—his cock which hadn’t gotten the message that he’d made a fool of himself and was still hopefully erect, because how could it be anything else when Tony was this close to him? Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised after all.

Unfortunately, however, there was a reason he’d been holding his phone, and now that he’d been reminded, he couldn’t afford to stand around anymore. No matter how much he wanted to.

That didn’t stop him from stroking Tony’s hair with his free hand, though, and he could hear the regret in his voice when he said, “Tony. I have a mission.”

Tony tensed for a second and then sighed. “Of course you do.” He sat up, and Steve missed his weight as soon as it was gone. “Go shower. I’ll get your stuff.”

Steve knew that he needed to hurry, but he still hesitated and then leaned down to kiss Tony, once, then twice, wishing for impossible things, before donning the mantle of responsibility. 

“How long are you going to be gone?” Tony asked in the garage as Steve loaded his pack and shield on his motorcycle.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, because it wasn’t a planned mission, and he couldn’t give Tony any kind of reliable estimate. While Tony was an Avenger, this wasn’t Avenger business, which meant he didn’t have the necessary clearance for Steve to say anything about the situation—not that he knew much, but still. 

Tony made a face, but he didn’t push, and Steve suspected Tony would know more about Steve’s mission than he knew himself by the time Steve got to SHIELD. “Call me when you can,” Tony just said and then kissed Steve roughly, as if Steve needed more reasons to come back as soon as he could.

“I will,” Steve promised, taking in the view of Tony with his tousled hair and red lips for later, and then he got going.

\-----

He called Tony two days later, although it was mostly to share bad news.

“They need me in DC for a few days,” he said, wishing once again that he could be more open with Tony about missions. He would’ve liked the opportunity to talk about the last few days, including discovering that Nat’s objective hadn’t been the same as his own ... would’ve also liked to discuss Project Insight and whatever Tony might know about it. Duty kept him silent, though. “Things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they were supposed to, so there are a few loose ends I need to take care of.”

He kept his words vague, because while the—brand new—phone was technically secure, that didn’t mean it was secure from SHIELD. He wouldn’t be surprised if SHIELD kept a transcript of every agent’s calls, and he didn’t want his questions about the newest upgrades Tony had given the helicarriers and whether or not Tony knew what the helicarriers were going to be used for to be part of his files.

“Everything alright?” Tony asked, enough concern in his voice that Steve suspected he needed to work on his acting skills. He’d never been good about hiding that he was upset.

“Yeah, it’s just been … a long couple of days,” Steve said, which was unbearably true, and he felt a pang in his chest with how much he missed Tony suddenly, even with everything hanging over his head. 

“I bet,” Tony murmured sympathetically, and it was just two words, but there was a wealth of warmth in his voice that had Steve closing his eyes. 

“What have you been up to?” Steve asked, and then immediately wondered if he sounded half as accusing as he thought he did, even though he’d meant it innocently. He wished he could dispel the suspicion lurking in the back of his mind, wished it’d never become an issue in the first place. 

“Not too much. I decided to be productive and swing by Malibu while you’re out of town. I regret it deeply, however, because right after lunch, I’ll be subjected to a Slow and Painful Death by Boring Business Metrics Meeting,” Tony said, and Steve smiled a little.

“When are you coming back?” he asked, which, considering why he’d called in the first place, was an unfair question. He knew that it’d probably been a last minute decision on Tony’s part, but it was strange to think of Tony choosing to be so far away. Tony had always just been _there_ whenever Steve had needed him, and it was selfish of Steve to want Tony to still be in New York, but he’d begun to think of Tony’s apartment as home. It didn’t work, however, if Tony wasn’t there.

“Whenever you want me to be. Just say the word, and I can be back in a few hours.”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice becoming softer, and damn it, they could work whatever this was out. Couldn’t they? If Tony knew about Project Insight or not, Steve could talk to him, could _do_ something to make Tony see, and together, they could find a solution. Steve had to believe that. “I’ll let you know.”

They only talked for a few minutes longer, but he felt better afterward. Just hearing Tony’s voice made Steve feel more settled. It always did. Which was a startling revelation to have, especially at a moment like this, but it was true.

Steve just felt like he fit in his skin more around Tony. 

He took comfort from that feeling, wanted to hold onto it, except as the hours ticked by, he found himself thinking about Project Insight again and again, about what it meant for SHIELD, for the world, and he just became … tired and disappointed and _angry_ that people seemed to learn all the wrong lessons from war.

 _Did_ Tony know about it? Steve had felt certain that he and Tony could move past this, but … had Tony been keeping it secret from Steve? Had he been hiding it? Or had he assumed Steve already knew? And if he did know, did he agree with Nick? Tony believed in having more firepower than anyone else as a means of solving problems, but that was a world away from being alright with threatening to assassinate anyone who posed a potential risk.

Tony deserved the benefit of the doubt, deserved, in fact, Steve’s faith, and Steve wanted desperately to give it to him … but how well did he really know Tony when it came to something like this?

Enough to know Tony wouldn’t agree with it. Tony was a good man, an honorable one.

Of course, if asked, he wouldn’t have thought Nick would agree either; had thought Nick was a good man as well. Still did, although Nick had obviously been blinded by all the wrongs he’d seen during his years at SHIELD. 

So what did that mean? Steve didn’t plan on turning his back on SHIELD or on Nick, still believed there was a cause worth fighting for. Nick needed him now as the voice of reason more than ever, needed to see that there were better ways to keep the world safe than Project Insight.

As for Tony, though … Steve just didn’t know. If he were willing to still talk and work with Nick, he should be willing to do the same with Tony, but …

More than anything, he realized, it was the idea of Tony purposefully keeping the truth from him that had Steve wondering how they were supposed to go forward—even while the thought of leaving Tony made it feel like something was trying to eat its way out of his chest. What kind of relationship could they have, though, if Tony kept something like this from him?

They couldn’t.

And then Nick died.

He honestly didn’t know why he didn’t call Tony to tell him that night, too numb, too shocked by it all perhaps. Tony definitely didn’t deserve to hear about it from anyone else, however, and Steve resolved to tell him after his meeting with Pierce, to make the time, no matter what else was going on. 

Except then the meeting went to hell in a handbasket, and Steve was on the run.

He debated calling Tony on the way to New Jersey with one of the many burner phones they’d gotten. Even though he and Tony weren’t contracted, he knew that SHIELD would put Tony on surveillance and bring him in for questioning since they were living together. As much as Steve wanted to talk to him, It’d be better for Tony if he didn’t know any of Steve’s plans and could truthfully claim he had no idea what was going on. Tony wouldn’t like it … but it was better for him to be as far from Steve right now as possible.

\----

 _Bucky._

\-----

It wasn’t until it was all over, when he was alone on his bed in an apartment that was no longer a home, when he was exhausted physically and mentally and just wanted to wrap himself in Tony’s arms and lie there for hours, that he realized he hadn’t talked to Tony even once in the past three days. 

Shit. 

_Fuck_.

He’d meant to. So many times. But then something would happen, or they’d get a lead—

It was a weak excuse. He knew it even as he thought it. Yes, he’d been trying to keep Tony safe, but he hadn’t even made an effort to let Tony know he was okay, that he was _alive_. He could’ve. He knew ways to get around surveillance, and Natasha knew even more, but he’d … 

It’d been easier to avoid Tony and thinking about Tony keeping Project Insight from him, to avoid thinking about what it meant for them, than to actually talk to him about it. And then, once Steve found out about Bucky, he really had been too caught up in finding him to think about Tony. Tony probably would’ve even understood. If Steve had made an effort to explain it to him.

 _Way to go, Rogers,_ he thought, covering his eyes with his forearm.

He thought about calling Tony then, but his flight was scheduled to leave in two hours, and it wasn’t the type of conversation that he could ask Tony to put on pause so he could finish packing. Besides, at this point, he thought he owed Tony the chance to yell at him face-to-face.

He was aware that his decision coincidentally gave him a few more hours before he had to confront Tony, and while it wasn’t the main reason he didn’t call Tony, it did help.

Knowing he was going to see Tony soon, it was a lot harder to not think about him or about what was going to happen when Steve got back to New York, but there was Bucky to focus on, Bucky who was alive and out there by himself, Bucky who’d been brainwashed and tortured by Hydra for years, and before Steve knew it, he was standing in front of Stark Tower.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS said, and Steve found himself relaxing a little. So much had happened in the past few days that he’d half-expected JARVIS to have changed. The familiar greeting was reassuring.

“Hi, JARVIS.”

“Mr. Stark is waiting for you in the living room.”

He let out a long breath, feeling like a battalion of butterflies were attacking his stomach. 

“Alright. Thanks.”

The elevator doors opened, and there was Tony, waiting for him just like JARVIS had said.

And at his feet were the bags Steve had brought when he moved into the penthouse, everything already packed, neatly and precisely.

It was like time had frozen, an eternity trapped in a second, and Steve could feel hurt and confusion and betrayal seeping into every crack and crevice until he was full to overflowing.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Tony said, breaking the silence and making Steve snap out of his daze as a wash of guilt swept over him.

“Tony—”

“We had a good run. I’ve been honored to be your Dom,” Tony said, his voice easy but his eyes shuttered, and he was … he was leaving him. Or asking Steve to leave. Either way, Tony was ending their relationship without any kind of warning, and Steve knew that he hadn’t called, but it’d only been for three days, and out of all things he’d imagined would happen when he got back, this hadn’t even been a glimmer on the horizon. “I assumed you probably didn’t want to get back on a plane right away, so I had JARVIS make a reservation for tonight, and my jet will take you back to DC tomorrow whenever you’re ready—”

“You’re kicking me out?” Steve demanded, sounding angry, even though what he mostly felt was lost. 

“I think of it more as facilitating the process,” Tony said, giving him a tight smile.

“What does that even mean?” 

“You obviously want to be gone, so I’m letting you go.”

Steve couldn’t say anything for a moment, Tony’s words a punch to the gut, and while he could understand in one part of his mind where Tony was coming from, the truth was that it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“Tony, wait, I don’t—”

“Let’s not do this, Steve.”

“But it’s not—”

“It is,” Tony said, and Steve shook his head, denying the finality in his voice.

“I don’t want to leave!” he said, needing Tony to know that much, not sure how Tony had decided that in the first place.

“Fury dies, and I don’t hear anything from you,” Tony said, and Steve flinched at the words, at how even his voice was, almost bored in tone. It was only the blankness of his eyes that told Steve he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed. Tony had always been expressive, his hands flying all over and his face stretching into smiles and frowns at the drop of a hat, but it was his eyes that had let Steve know what he was feeling. And when they were masked like that, it meant Tony was hiding his emotions, because they were too much. 

“I get SHIELD agents in my home, telling me that you’re wanted for questioning and heavily implying you’re somehow involved with Fury’s death, and still nothing. Days of radio silence, and there are explosions on the news, and there’s Natasha, and the-the _Eagle_ or _Osprey_ or whatever it is they’re calling him, and then the agents leave. They just get up and go, saying you’ve been absolved of any crime, and still, not one single damn word from you to explain what’s going on? I had to call _Hill_ to ask where you were,” he said, anger creeping into his voice, and while Steve was grateful for the crack in his calm, for any indication that Tony still cared, every word made Steve feel that much worse. “To ask if _my Sub_ was okay,” and Steve writhed inside, could only imagine how humiliating that must have been for a Dom, how desperate Tony must have felt to do it, “and still, nothing from you. And then you show up on my doorstep without so much as a text! You say you don’t want to leave, but you’ve made it more than clear how you really feel, so yes, I’m easing the way for you. Here are your things. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“I was going to call!” It was too little, too late, but he had to try. “I meant to, but Nick told me about Project Insight. About your role in it,” Steve said, blurting it out, and shit, he knew he wasn’t explaining himself well, but he had to say something before he lost his chance. “He said—”

“My role in what?” Tony said, upset but obviously confused, and Steve knew then Tony might’ve suggested improvements to the Helicarriers, but that was as far as his involvement had gone. The rush of relief that hit Steve was staggering. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said, because it didn’t anymore. Tony hadn’t been part of the project, and he hadn’t been keeping anything from Steve. The rest wasn’t important. “Nick just said some things that—” 

“It’s your excuse for not calling me, but it’s not important? JARVIS, what’s Project Insight?” Tony asked, staring him down, and Steve didn’t know how much JARVIS would find out since it’d never been mentioned in the news, but considering how easily Tony had hacked SHIELD’s servers before, he’d bet he didn’t have much time.

“It was a plan to use helicarriers to monitor potential threats in order to keep them from becoming real ones. Nick said you—”

“‘Nick said, Nick said,’ what about asking _me_ what I was or wasn’t doing?” Tony demanded, hitting his own chest as if to emphasize that he was right there. 

“I know, I should have,” Steve said, reaching out to Tony, wanting him to understand. “I was going to, Tony, but then Nick was—”

“Wait,” Tony said, holding up his hand to stop Steve. “Keep them from becoming real ones. What do you mean by that?”

He hesitated, his heart racing, knowing it was going to come off as an accusation; that it was one. “Tony, I—”

“Preemptive strike. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Taking people out before they become a problem.”

“Not—” Steve had never been the type to back down from a fight, even when obviously outmatched, but he felt as if Tony was steamrolling over him, and he couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t do anything but take each blow as it came. It was the guilt. It was knowing that he’d doubted Tony and had acted as judge and jury without giving Tony even a chance to explain that made it so hard to talk. He _wanted_ to argue, but he didn’t feel like he had the right. He was a bad Sub. He deserved whatever Tony said or did to him. “Yes, that was Nick’s plan, but—”

“That’s what you thought I was a part of.”

“Ni—” He barely kept himself from saying that Nick had implied Tony knew about Insight. “I thought that—”

“That’s what you think of _me_ ,” Tony said, and the look on his face made Steve want to cringe.

“It’s not …” He took a deep breath, looking down. “If you’d just let me explain—”

“I think I understand already,” Tony said, his voice calm, steady, and Steve’s head jerked up, but Tony’s eyes weren’t blank anymore. They were indifferent. Tony looked at Steve as if he didn’t even see him anymore, and Steve’s body went numb with panic. Tony was … Tony didn’t … 

“Now, not that this hasn’t been fun, but I wasn’t expecting you, and I have other places to be.”

It made Steve want to grab him, to not let go until Tony listened, until he _understood_ —but all yelling at Tony did was to shut his ears, and if Steve forced him to stay, it’d just drive Tony further away from him.

“I already packed everything of yours,” Tony said, pulling out his phone from his pocket, and while he didn’t do anything with it, Steve realized his mind was already somewhere else. 

“If you need anything else, you can speak to JARVIS.”

No. He’d already tried to stay away from Tony once, and he’d spent the whole year unable to forget him, filled with regret. Steve could do it again, but he didn’t want to, didn’t want to find out how much worse it’d be when he’d fallen … when he felt … when there wasn’t even the hope that Tony would take him back at the end of it.

“He’ll make sure you—”

“Tony.” A whisper.

“—have what you need.”

“I didn’t—”

“Goodbye, Steve.”

No. Please, no.

“Just listen,” he begged, but he didn’t know what he could possibly say at that point to get Tony to look at him like he mattered again.

“Take care of yourself,” Tony said, his tone and expression seeming to soften for one fraction of a second, there and gone, and then he was turning away.

“Honor,” Steve rasped, and he was barely able to get the word out.


	27. Chapter 27

Tony froze, the line of his shoulders going rigid. His face was pointed away, so Steve couldn’t see his expression, but he desperately wanted to, wished … wished for so many fucking things, that he’d called Tony, that he’d talked about Project Insight with him, wished that he hadn’t made the same damn mistake that he’d already made over and over again and just fucking _trusted_ Tony.

But Steve never had, no matter how many times he’d told himself he would. They’d reach some critical point in their relationship, and Steve’s faith would falter each and every time. 

No wonder Tony didn’t want him anymore. 

“Safewords don’t work that way,” Tony said, his voice low enough that Steve couldn’t decipher his tone, but he could tell there _was_ a tone at least, that it wasn’t the awful nothingness from before. 

“I know,” he said, having to swallow past the lump in his throat to get the words out. And he did. He knew that he couldn’t use his safeword to make Tony forgive him, or keep him, or force him to give him another chance when he’d wasted so many already. “But you said—” 

He cleared his throat and swallowed again, but his voice was still shredded when he told Tony, “You said if there was something I couldn’t do, I should use it, and I can’t—” leave you, “—walk out that door, knowing that you think I _want_ to go. Not without at least trying to explain.” Tony had always been so careful to make sure Steve had what he needed, even when Steve hadn’t known he needed it himself. He had to believe that Tony would do it one more time. Just once more. “Please, Tony.” 

Tony moved to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, keeping his back to him, and Steve had to bite his lip to keep from saying anything else. He was acutely aware that he was still holding his shield and duffel in his right hand, having never set them down, and that it’d take one trip to get all his things downstairs if Tony refused. And then that would be it. All traces of his stay would be gone from Stark Tower.

When he’d moved, it’d seemed reasonable to only bring clothes and those few items that he actually cared about since Tony’s place was already furnished and decorated. Tony had told him to bring more, but there hadn’t seemed to be much of a point. They were just _things_ that Steve had picked up along the way, interesting but ultimately unimportant, and what did it matter if they were in New York, or in DC, or if they were gone altogether?

It mattered, Steve realized, looking around the living room which was exactly the same as it’d been before he’d left a few days ago. There weren’t even empty spaces to mark where his things used to be, spots that Tony might’ve looked at that made him think about all the holes Steve would leave in his life when he was gone. How could there be when Steve had kept everything in his room? It probably hadn’t even taken long for Tony to pack his belongings. If Steve had moved more of his stuff to New York, maybe he would’ve come back while Tony was still gathering everything together, could’ve had time to talk to Tony before he’d completely made up his mind. 

Instead, Steve would leave, and it’d be as if he’d never been there at all.

Even worse, he didn’t have anything of Tony’s. No pictures or keepsakes to mark their time together, because it’d been early days yet, and there would always be time for that later. He didn’t even have a collar, not even that much to show that Tony had cared for him once upon a time.

He could feel the prickle of tears behind his eyes, and he bowed his head, blinking rapidly, refusing to let them fall. He would never have used his safeword if he’d honestly known what else to do, but he wasn’t going to manipulate Tony further by crying in front of him, no matter how genuine the emotion behind it.

“You have five minutes. JARVIS, mark the time,” Tony said finally, just when Steve was sure he was going to say no. Tony’s arms were folded across his chest, and he was still looking out the window, but at least he’d given Steve a shot at making things right, and Steve couldn’t waste it.

“I fucked up,” he said hoarsely, his hand twisting around the handle of his bag. Five minutes. That was no time at all. “I knew I was doing it, but I didn’t—I didn’t _mean_ to, Tony. I never meant to hurt you,” he said. As if that made it better somehow.

“Nick showed me Project Insight, and he said that you’d upgraded the helicarriers. He didn’t say you knew about the project itself, but the way he mentioned it, I just assumed …” He trailed off, looking down, ashamed but unwilling to tell Tony anything but the absolute truth. He should know the complete list of Steve’s sins. 

“When I thought about it later, I didn’t believe him,” he said, his eyes drawn back to Tony. “You’re a good man, Tony, and I know that better than almost anyone, but Nick is a good man too, and he still supported Insight. Even good men can wander from the path sometimes,” he said, imploring, willing him to understand. “I didn’t want to bring up Insight until I was ready in case you’d … in case there was something I couldn’t … I couldn’t handle. I still didn’t think you’d gone along with it,” he said, knowing that it seemed like the exact opposite, “but if you had, I wanted to be able to discuss it with a clear head.”

Tony made a small disbelieving noise, and Steve paused in case he wanted to say something, cheeks heating up, because he knew that he had a tendency to get passionate about things, to say what he felt when he felt it without always thinking past that knee-jerk reaction. But Tony didn’t comment, and eventually, Steve continued. 

“I finally decided that even if you did agree with Nick, we could figure it out. Together. But then I—I kept wondering if you’d been hiding it from me, if you’d known and just not told me. That was what stopped me the most, because I couldn’t be with someone who’d do that, but I wanted—I _want_ to be with you so much,” he said, tears managing to well up without permission at the knowledge that it might be the very last time he was with Tony, and he wiped at his eyes roughly before they could fall. “I didn’t call, because I didn’t want to know what you’d say, and I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m so fucking sorry, but I’ve just lost so many people already,” he said, his voice cracking, “I couldn’t face the possibility of losing you too.”

Tony’s back was rigid. He didn’t turn around, and Steve was all too conscious of the seconds ticking away, of how little time he had left.

“I was going to call after Nick died, but then I was being pursued by SHIELD, and it was just easier to tell myself I was keeping you safe by not contacting you. And then … then I found out Bucky was still alive,” he said, and Tony’s body jerked around as he stared at him. By the expression on his face, Steve knew he didn’t have to explain who Bucky was. “Hydra had him,” Steve said and looked at the floor, forcing himself not to think about what Bucky must have gone through. What he might still be going through. “But he’s alive.”

“Steve …” Tony said, his voice gentle for the first time since Steve had walked in the door, and it felt like his heart lurched in reaction. “Shit.”

“None of that excuses me ignoring you, though,” he said, leather creaking under his grip, keeping his eyes down. Tony had spent the whole conversation avoiding looking at him, but now that Steve had his attention, Steve couldn’t face him. “No one’s worried about me like that for a long time, and I didn’t think about what you’d be going through. I just—I didn’t _think_ ,” he said, his shoulders hunching. “Or at least, I didn’t think about anything besides myself.” He’d do better, though, if Tony would just let him, he swore to himself, and tried not to remember how many times he’d made that same promise already. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

There was a long moment when neither of them spoke, although Steve wanted to fill the silence with more reasons, more apologies. He felt like he’d rushed through his explanation, hadn’t done a good enough job of conveying just how important Tony was to him and how truly sorry he was. At the same time, however, he didn’t know what else to say, what—if any of it—had affected Tony, and if he’d be hurting his chances by pointing out his mistakes all over again at this point. Not that it could get much worse, he thought, his hand aching with how hard he was squeezing his bag.

“And now?” Tony asked at last, heavy and low.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, finally lifting his head as he tried to make sense of Tony’s question. Was Tony asking if he was thinking about him instead of just himself now?

“You apologized. Alright. Fine,” Tony said, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and then pinching the bridge of his nose. The dismissive tone hurt, but Steve reminded himself that it was no less than he deserved. “Now what?”

“Isn’t that up to you?” he said uncertainly.

“What are _you_ hoping happens now?” Tony said, curt and impatient, and Steve tried not to panic at the expression on his face. He hadn’t looked at Steve like that since the very beginning when they’d first been forced together, like Tony didn’t know why he was even there, like Steve was wasting his time. 

It hadn’t been five minutes yet, he reminded himself, trying to stay calm and resisting the urge to look at the clock. And Tony was talking to him at least, asking him questions. That had to be a good thing, right? 

The problem was that Steve didn’t really know how to answer. Did Tony mean right away? Wasn’t that obvious? He wanted Tony to let him stay, for them to keep going as they had been. Or maybe Tony meant long-term, he thought, his eyes darting to Tony and then away. Steve didn’t want to blurt out the first thing that came to mind, wanted to give Tony the response he seemed to be looking for, but it was next to impossible to figure out what that was as Tony’s face got darker and darker. Steve had never been good at talking about his feelings, tended to avoid it whenever possible because he always mangled what he was trying to say, and the added pressure of Tony’s anger and how much hung in the balance just made him all the more tongue-tied.

“What do you _want_ , Steve?” Tony asked, one hand cutting through the air in frustration, and Steve’s mouth felt glued shut. The way Tony said it made Steve remember the last time he’d sounded like that, back in February when Steve had asked Tony to try again. Steve couldn’t help but notice how similar the two occasions were, and he hadn’t thought he could feel any guiltier, but he did. He kept screwing everything up, even when he didn’t mean to, and Tony was always the one who suffered for his mistakes. 

Maybe it’d be better if Tony didn’t forgive him, he thought, even though the very idea made it feel like his chest was going to cave in. The thing was, Steve’s answer hadn’t changed. He wanted Tony, wanted to spend his days and nights with him, wanted everything he could get, and the fact that Tony had to ask, that he didn’t _know_ that Steve loved—

That he … 

He blinked once slowly. Twice.

Oh.

He loved Tony.

It felt less like a discovery of something new than an acknowledgement of what had been right before his eyes. Of course he was in love with Tony. Of course he was. After everything Tony had done for him, all the kindnesses, big and small, how could Steve not love him?

If only he’d realized it a few days ago, Steve thought, his stomach sinking, knowing it wasn’t the best time for his epiphany. Even if he had the courage to admit his feelings, there’d be next to no chance that Tony would believe—

“It’s been five minutes, Sir,” JARVIS said, and Steve jerked in surprise, his gaze flying to Tony.

“Well then.” 

“Tony, wait—”

“I’ll be back late,” Tony said, looking down at his phone, swiping past one screen to the next. “You don’t need to wait up.”

“What?” Steve asked, completely forgetting for a second that he hadn’t answered Tony yet in the face of Tony’s words. Wait up? Did that mean—?

“You owe me three days, though, Steve,” Tony said, fingers still busy. “We’ve never discussed discipline, but we’re going to tomorrow.”

“I—yes,” Steve said, confused but latching onto the fact that Tony had decided to keep him. That was all that mattered. “I’ll do whatever it takes—”

“Yes. You will,” Tony said, and there was a note in his voice made Steve fall silent as Tony went to grab something from the bar counter and then walked past him to the elevator. Tony made no mention of Steve’s bags on the floor or in his hand, and he didn’t touch him before leaving, barely glanced at him on the way out. 

It felt … strange. Unfinished. That was it? Tony didn’t have anything else to say? Steve knew that punishment was hanging in the distance, that maybe Tony wanted the time to sort out his thoughts before picking up where they’d left off tomorrow, but for Tony to just get up and leave … 

Sure, he’d mentioned that he’d made other plans, but Steve hadn’t thought he was serious.

Apparently, he had been, however, and what had Steve expected? For Tony to drop everything now that he was back?

Maybe a little bit, Steve thought, remembering _Whenever you want me to be. Just say the word, and I can be back in a few hours_. He knew it was unfair, however. They wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for him, and he shouldn’t be upset that Tony was taking some time for himself. Steve should just be grateful that he’d gotten what he wanted in the end: Tony was letting him stay. 

Steve stepped forward, picking up his things off the floor to unpack in his room, every brush of fabric and muffled footfall unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment.

So then … why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he’d lost something instead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want people to remember that when I responded to comments, I said I’d _eventually_ make it better. Not that it’d get better right away.  >_>
> 
> Also, I'm not saying there's a correlation with getting a lot of comments and updating faster, but...


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after all those lovely comments, I was planning to update last week, but then the chapter fought me, so that didn't happen. Then I hit 4.3K, and I realized I was still only half-way finished (I have a feeling all these punishment days are going to be split into 2), but I didn't want to make you guys wait anymore, so here is the first half of Day 1.

Steve woke up early the next morning, his eyes heavy and gritty. He hadn’t been able to sleep much.

He blinked several times in order to clear his blurry vision, almost wishing he hadn’t when the all too familiar ceiling came into focus. He hadn’t slept in his own room for over a month, but he’d memorized all the tiny dips and divots in his supposed “prison” a long time ago. 

Of course, it had stopped being a prison soon enough, and Steve had chosen the same room when he’d come to Tony again, because the good associations had far outweighed the bad, and staying there had felt more like a continuation of what should’ve been then starting all over again. Nevertheless, when he’d first moved into Stark Tower, when he’d been angry and frustrated at everything and everyone, he’d spent hours staring at the ceiling, at the bottom left corner of the painting to his right, at the horizon outside his window, all while wondering how much longer he’d have to stay with Tony before he would finally be allowed to leave.

Now, however, the question was how long would he have to stay in this room before Tony would allow him in his again?

Steve hadn’t waited up for Tony. He hadn’t gone to sleep as early as he might have normally, spending the time going through files on the Winter Soldier, on Hydra, piecing together what information he could and trying to figure out ways to find Bucky, but it hadn’t exactly been a productive exercise. He’d kept being distracted by the memory of Tony’s anger, by his own guilt, and by the fear that Tony would change his mind to be able to concentrate fully. Steve had finally gone to sleep, determined not to have the first act he committed upon coming back to be disobeying Tony, but he’d tossed and turned the whole night, his thoughts too crowded with everything that had happened to find rest.

It hadn’t helped that he’d been all too aware of being in his own bed. He’d wanted to sleep in Tony’s, but his courage had failed him. He hadn’t known what he would’ve done if Tony had come in and ordered him back to his own room, or if Tony had taken one look at him and turned and left. So he’d come here instead, hoping that Tony would join him but knowing that he wouldn’t. Tony never came into Steve’s bedroom, had never, the whole time Steve had lived with him, and would never, Steve knew without being told, because it was an island of privacy that Tony refused to invade. 

Steve had learned that it was actually a common practice to let a Sub have a space he could call his own without the presence of his Dom, but Steve couldn’t help but feel guilty—guiltier—because he’d never let Tony know that a knock wouldn’t be unwelcome. One part of him knew that it wasn’t something that he should really feel bad about, because what else was asking Tony to try again but an invitation into Steve’s life? The larger part, however, felt like it was just one more way that he’d failed Tony, because Steve had never explicitly told Tony that he wanted to be in his bed or have Tony in his every night, had just assumed that Tony would know. The problem, however, was that his assumptions had never taken into account Tony being angry enough to want him to leave. 

It made his upcoming punishment something to almost look forward to in a twisted way, because then at least, he could begin to make amends. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure Tony didn’t regret or reconsider his decision. He was going to be good, better than he’d ever been before, and he was going to show Tony how sorry he was, how much he valued— _loved_ Tony. And then Tony would believe him. Then he might want to keep him for real.

Steve glanced at the clock—5:47 am—and got out of bed. He’d get breakfast ready, be able to put it in front of Tony within minutes of him waking up, and then Tony would tell him his punishment, and Steve would do it, whatever it was.

Living alone had improved his cooking, so he was able to make pancake batter from scratch, and he cleaned and halved some strawberries, putting everything away in the refrigerator. He got the pans out he’d need for the pancakes and the bacon, set the table, and then he waited for Tony. And waited some more, trying not to be impatient, even though that had never been a strong suit of his.

He’d devoted a few more hours to looking for Bucky when Tony finally appeared, but it wasn’t the sound of Tony’s bedroom door opening that startled Steve but the sound of the elevator.

“Tony?” he said as Tony walked into the living room, sunglasses on his face and wearing a rumpled tuxedo that looked like it’d spent several hours on the floor. It wasn’t the outfit he’d been wearing when he’d left the penthouse.

“Steve,” Tony said, the barest hint of a slur to his words. “I told you not to wait up.”

“I … I didn’t,” Steve said, taking in but not understanding the smear of red on the top of Tony’s collar, the slight stumble to Tony’s steps. Had Tony been out all night? He must have if he were dressed like that—although when had he changed and where? And did that mean Tony hadn’t slept at all? Or had he—?

He wouldn’t ask, Steve told himself, trapping the words behind his teeth. He wouldn’t.

“Of course not,” Tony said and made a noise that scoffed at the very idea of Steve doing anything like that for him.

Steve’s face burned, and he wanted to say that Tony had told him not to, that he would have if Tony had let him … but he couldn’t blame Tony for his disbelief, not really, not after the past few days. Although he couldn’t help but selfishly wish that Tony would take into account his previous actions, all the things he’d done in the past—

Like leave Tony, his brain supplied. Like think the worst of him whenever possible. 

No, but he’d—he’d—when _had_ he ever done anything for Tony, he wondered, trying to think, his mind stuttering as he struggled to remember something beyond occasionally putting together a meal, which as much about taking care of himself as taking care of Tony. Surely, he’d done—

“Fuck, it’s bright,” Tony said, lowering his sunglasses just enough to squint at the window. “After a night like that, I’m in the mood for cinnamon rolls. JARVIS, order me some from that place that I like.”

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS replied before Steve could gather his thoughts and tell him he’d gotten breakfast ready.

“And make me some coffee,” Tony said as he walked towards the kitchen. “I need to sober up.”

“Indeed, Sir,” JARVIS said, and Steve didn’t understand how he could feel a stab of envy at the order, but he did. He would’ve made Tony coffee if he’d asked. Tony could tell him to do something, and he’d do it. He’d do anything.

Tony walked past the table set for two without comment, and Steve followed, at a loss as Tony got two large mugs down, leaving one coffee black but doctoring the second with cream and sugar. Steve only took cream in his, so he doubted either of them were for him, and Tony didn’t ask if he wanted one of his own.

He caught sight of the red stain on Tony’s shirt again, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from it. He knew Tony hadn’t slept with anyone. He knew it, and he wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. The red was probably from a miscalculated hug.

But … what if Tony had wanted to? What if he got tired of all of Steve’s apologies? What if, even after punishing Steve, Tony decided he couldn’t forgive him?

What if he went looking for someone who, months after they started dating, wouldn’t have such a hard time thinking of something he or she had done for Tony?

“I’m going to shower. We’ll talk when I get out,” Tony said, and Steve nodded jerkily, taking a step back so he wouldn’t be in Tony’s way.

\-----

Steve made himself a sandwich while he was waiting, no longer in the mood for breakfast foods or for eating much at all really, but knowing his stomach would complain sooner rather than later if he skipped a meal. He put everything away, hesitating a moment on the pancake batter, before deciding to save it for tomorrow, hating the idea of wasting food but without much hope that they’d eat it the next morning. Not if that morning was anything to go by.

When the cinnamon rolls arrived, he asked JARVIS to let Tony know and then set the box on the counter, the sweet smell pervading the room.

It was over an hour after Tony had gone to his room that he finally came out, and Steve stood immediately, glad that he didn’t have to look at red on white anymore and wondering if Tony were going to eat first and what he would say—except all Tony said was, “Follow me.” 

They went downstairs, and Steve wasn’t sure why they were stopping by Tony’s lab, but he stood quietly as Tony opened the door, knowing he’d find out soon enough.

He did when all the lights came on, but he wished he hadn’t.

The lab was in ruins. There were papers scattered everywhere and machinery lying on its side, smeared outlines of dust to mark where things used to be, and in the corner sat DUM-E, not moving.

“What happened?” Steve asked, his voice a whisper.

“What do you think happened?” Tony said, walking inside and spreading his arms out to encompass the whole room. “I was apparently harboring a traitor to the state! SHIELD came in and took anything that might tell them what your nefarious plans were. They were working on getting access to Stark Industries as well, but then you acquitted yourself, so that fell through to their everlasting disappointment,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “and I’ll probably get my things back sometime next year, assuming nothing gets lost in the process.”

“Tony,” he began, not knowing what to say, what he _could_ say, because he honestly hadn’t thought about the consequences to Tony of what had happened besides assuming he’d be brought in for questioning and monitored in case Steve contacted him. Steve never dealt with this side of SHIELD, just got the results of their investigations delivered to him in neat files, and it wasn’t that he hadn’t known the lengths they would go to in pursuit of keeping the world safe, he just hadn’t ever worried about it. “I’m sor—

“I don’t want to hear it!” Tony said fiercely, dropping his arms, and Steve’s mouth snapped close. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want to hear any of it. You couldn’t be fucked to say a word to me for three days, so I don’t want there to be so much as a peep out of your mouth unless it’s your safeword for the duration of your punishment. Do you understand me?”

Steve flinched, looking down and nodding.

He listened as Tony take a deep breath, then another. “Clean this place up,” Tony said levelly. “You can come upstairs when you’re done.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just brushed past Steve, each step sounding like a crack of thunder as he walked away.

\-----

It took Steve over three hours to finish. Tony hadn’t given him any direction on what to do with the damaged items, so he tried to sort those that seemed salvageable into one area and those that looked irreparably damaged into another. It was mostly guesswork, but he didn’t have anyone to ask, so he did the best he could with hands that weren’t quite steady and a chest that had seemed to crack open further with every item he cleared away.

All the papers were blank, maybe spilled out of a printer or just dropped by agents as they’d pulled things out, and those he picked up and piled neatly on the corner of a desk. He dusted, swept, and then mopped, and he put everything he could away, although the pile of trash grew steadily, because SHIELD had been careless with the things they didn’t want. 

Because he had been careless with Tony.

By the time he was done, the room gleamed, all bare workspaces and open floor, the damage hidden, even though it didn’t make the reality any more bearable.

All of Tony’s work. Gone. 

Even DUM-E hadn’t moved the entire time Steve had been cleaning, not even when he’d touched it hesitantly, the only sign of life a blinking light to show that at least there was still power flowing through it. Tony hadn’t said anything about it, but Steve knew he had a soft spot for DUM-E, knew that it was more than a robotic arm that Tony directed when needed, and Steve couldn’t figure out why Tony had left DUM-E the way he had. For a second, Steve had panicked that JARVIS had also been shut down or taken away, but then he remembered speaking to him on more than one occasion since he’d gotten back, and that worry, at least, had been quieted. But everything else … 

It was a wonder that Tony didn’t hate him.

Although … maybe Tony did, Steve thought dully, remembering Tony coming in that morning, the way Tony seemed to look past him, and who could blame him? 

Certainly not Steve.

He made his way slowly up the stairs, his body feeling too heavy for his bones to hold up, and he found Tony in his office, the computer Steve had used gone, although it didn’t stop JARVIS from projecting screens for Tony to use.

“Go eat,” Tony said without looking away from what he was doing. Less than a week ago, he would’ve stopped, would’ve kept Steve company, because Tony believed they should eat their meals together when they were home, would’ve look at Steve with affection and told him funny stories to make him laugh, and Steve hadn’t considered any of it when he’d decided to not call Tony. 

Steve went.

\-----

He managed to get down another sandwich, although it was tough by the end. He felt like he kept chewing and chewing, but the food never became easier to swallow.

He made sure to clean up after himself, and then he went to stand by Tony’s doorway again, his hands clasped in front of him.

He waited for Tony to tell him what to do next, but Tony didn’t look up, even though he had to know Steve was there. Steve wondered if that meant Tony wanted him to leave him alone, or to continue to stand there, or if Steve had missed a cue to do something else, but he didn’t ask for clarification. He’d given up that privilege.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, shifting his weight occasionally but trying to be silent in order not to disturb Tony. He considered sitting, but only for a second, because he realized the point wasn’t to be comfortable; it was to wait for Tony’s acknowledgment, just like Tony had waited for his. So Steve stood where he was, watching the ground, because he didn’t deserve to watch Tony, and he thought about being good, about earning Tony’s attention again. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that when Tony finally said, “Take off your clothes,” Steve’s head jerked up, and he forgot all about keeping his eyes down.

But Tony still wasn’t looking at him, was typing something at rapid speed, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure that he’d heard what he’d thought he’d heard, but he was completely certain that he wasn’t going to disobey, so after a moment’s hesitation, he did what Tony wanted.

He was mostly hard by the time he was finished, an instinctive response to being naked in Tony’s presence, which would’ve been fine before, good even, but which was just humiliating now when Tony was so angry with him, his body not realizing its shame. 

It was harder to stay still as he waited once again, his hands clenched at his sides so as not to give in to the urge to cover himself. Tony wanted to see him, and Steve wouldn’t deny him that, _wanted_ Tony to look, wanted to be something worth looking _at_. But Tony continued to focus on his work instead, and Steve could feel his eyes starting to burn as Tony ignored him and ignored him.

“Go get the ottoman,” Tony said suddenly, making Steve flinch in surprise, and he nearly said, “Yes, Tony,” the habit of responding when Tony asked for anything deeply ingrained in him. He barely managed to keep back the words, and it shook him, how easily he might have done something wrong, might have destroyed whatever progress he’d made that day so far at earning Tony’s forgiveness because he’d been distracted. He had to be careful, had to _think_ instead of falling into habit.

Steve hurried to the living room and back, then paused just inside the door, not knowing where Tony wanted the ottoman, wondering how long Tony would make him wait this time before telling him. He wasn’t even upset by the idea, was just … _thankful_ that Tony was giving him the chance to make it up to him. He’d wait for hours if he had to, if it meant Tony would be happy with him.

“Hold it above your head, arms straight but don’t lock your elbows. I’ll tell you when you can put it down.”

Steve froze.

Okay. 

Steve took a deep breath and then raised the ottoman. Okay. He could do this. The ottoman wasn’t heavy, but then, this wasn’t about strength. It was about endurance. About what he was willing to endure for Tony. About what Tony had endured for him. Except Tony had had to wait for three days, and Steve just had to wait until Tony told him to stop. That was all.

The possibility that Tony might make him wait until he had no choice but to fail slithered through his mind for a second, and he immediately felt disgusted with himself, his stomach twisting. What was wrong with him? Tony hadn’t asked him to do anything he couldn’t handle yet, had _never_ asked him to do anything he couldn’t handle, but here he was, doubting Tony again. Fuck, he just wanted to be good. Why couldn’t he ever be good?

Steve held the ottoman up until his arms became numb, the blood draining away from his hands as gravity fought against his body’s demands; until sweat began pouring down, and his breathing became labored; until he began shaking all over, and his face contorted in a rictus of effort; until he started making involuntary grunts of pain, because he couldn’t lower his arms, but he had to let something out; until he thought for sure that the ottoman would drop on his head, because he couldn’t do it anymore, but better that he hurt himself than disappoint Tony one more time—

“You can put it down now,” Tony said, and Steve let out a sob as he set the ottoman down as gently as he could manage, nearly falling to his knees in the process.

“That was hard for you. Rest now,” Tony told him, somehow right next to him, even though Steve hadn’t seen him move, and Steve felt such a rush of gratitude that Tony hadn’t let him fail, that Tony was there, he almost started crying, would have except he’d told himself he wouldn’t do that to Tony. 

He took a shuddering breath instead, nearly sitting down where he was, exhausted in a way that made no sense for how little he’d actually done, but he couldn’t be weak, refused to do anything that would keep Tony from continuing his punishment. So he stood there instead, taking deep, heaving gasps of air as he flexed and shifted his arms, trying to get rid of the pain while keeping his movements small.

“You don’t want to sit down?” Tony asked politely but without the normal warmth, but Steve would get it back. He had to. He shook his head.

Tony tilted his head, assessing. “This is what you’re going to do. I want you on your knees, head and chest on the ottoman, head pointed towards the door.”

Steve didn’t hesitate, just nodded, knowing immediately how that would look but more than willing if that was what Tony wanted. It was the first time he’d been this close to Tony since this morning, so he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Tony’s eyes as he moved into position, looking for any sign of softening or approval, for any of the reassurances that Tony had given him so freely before. 

He couldn’t read the expression on Tony’s face, however, and he had to swallow the lump that rose in his throat, his heart hurting worse than his arms had a minute before.

At least … at least Tony wanting him naked meant he still liked his body. Right? At least there was something Steve could give him.

Steve made sure to spread his legs wide, even though his face burned red as a result, and he tilted his hips up, in case Tony wanted to see everything. His arms, he let hang free, since Tony hadn’t said anything about them. 

It was difficult getting his breath back in that position, but there was something comforting about having the ottoman against his front, the pressure of it across his chest and the way it forced his head to the side, even though it left his back bare. Maybe Tony was going to beat him, he thought, as he remembered the empty space where the computer used to be. Maybe Tony would beat him until he was bloody and Tony had worked out all his anger on Steve’s body and then Tony would hold him and tell him he was forgiven.

Steve thought he might want that, and he pushed his face harder against the leather. 

But Tony didn’t, didn’t do anything except go back to his work, and from this position, Steve couldn’t even watch him, couldn’t even tell if Tony were watching _him_ , and the longer it went on, the more he hated it. He’d had a purpose when he was cleaning Tony’s lab, and when he’d been standing at the door, he could look at Tony occasionally from beneath his eyelashes, but like this … 

It would be different if he could at least know that Tony was enjoying it, but Tony had gone back to not saying anything, and from the clack of the keys, it seemed like the last thing on his mind was Steve.

“Get up on your feet now, but your head needs to stay on the ottoman,” Tony said after some interminable time, and Steve could hear how distracted he was, Steve just an afterthought, and he had to tell himself that it was because he was being punished, that Tony would want him otherwise.

But what if he didn’t? What if Steve had killed whatever Tony had felt for him? 

His heart seemed to spasm suddenly, before starting up again with a lurch.

Tony was witty and kind, was incredibly handsome and used to dating beautiful Subs, and the only thing that made Steve special was the reason he’d left Tony in the first place. 

His breathing started coming in a little faster, and he tried to tell himself to calm down, but—

He’d thought when Tony had told him to take off his clothes that it meant Tony was still attracted to him, but Tony wasn’t even looking at him. He hadn’t touched Steve at all since he’d gotten home, and Steve missed it, his skin tight and aching for the barest brush of Tony’s fingers. What if being naked was just a way to add to Steve’s humiliation rather than out of any real desire on Tony’s part?

He had to strangle the noise that wanted to escape.

Steve just … he needed to know that Tony wanted him still. Just that. He knew he didn’t deserve any kind of praise or tenderness, but just … just that one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 6/22/17: Okay, guys, so I was hoping to add one more chapter this week, but it's not going to happen after all. I had to work on my SuperBatBigBang, which I just posted, and I go on vacation next week and won't be around for a couple of weeks. So please be patient with me, and I'll get back to Nostalgia as soon as I get back.
> 
> In the meanwhile, if you guys want to read angst that gets resolved quickly (gasp), please give my fic [The Scars of Your Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8735506) a try. I don't typically self-advertize, but I like that fic and want more people to read it. :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys remember how 4 chapter ago, I said there were less than 4 chapters to go? *Sigh* Yeah, I remember that too.
> 
> Soooo......summer is not a good time for creativity for me. But you guys have to know by now that I'm going to finish this thing, so anyway, I'm back now, and hopefully, the chapters will flow smoothly from here on out. >_>
> 
> Also, OMG, GUYS, THIS HAS 3K KUDOS. How does that even happen? I'm so happy. Thank you.

Tony still hadn’t told him what to do with his hands. And if he hadn’t, didn’t that mean Steve could do whatever he wanted with them? Especially if all he’d be doing was more of what Tony had asked for in the first place?

It was just that Tony had wanted Steve back when things between them had been tense and difficult, had wanted him even after he’d left, and Steve knew that Tony probably didn’t lo—didn’t—Steve knew—he _knew_. He did, he thought, squeezing his eyes closed, refusing to wonder whether Tony ever would now.

Steve just needed time; time to prove to Tony that he was worth forgiving, worth _keeping_ , but if Tony didn’t want Steve’s apologies or excuses, then what could he offer him? 

Tony had to still want him, because if he didn’t … if lust wasn’t there anymore, what could Steve hope for? What was left?

Nothing.

So it was with trembling fingers that Steve reached back, spreading his cheeks in order to be even better for Tony. 

He clenched instinctively at being so exposed, and his face burned, but he didn’t stop, started circling one finger over his opening even, the awkwardness of the position be damned. He needed Tony to look, needed Tony to _react_ , and Steve tried not to think about what would happen if Tony didn’t.

Steve didn’t know how much time passed, the seconds seeming to drag on, one after the other, and he had to adjust twice, his hands sweaty from nervousness, his fingers slipping against his own skin. At least the sweat helped him push the tip of one finger in, not exactly comfortable, but it was worth it, though, for the sharp inhale of air he finally heard from behind him moments later, for the silence that stretched out after it.

It was excruciating listening to Tony’s muffled steps as he walked towards him, Steve’s whole body yearning for Tony to be closer, and he could feel his heart rate picking up, his body trembling in anticipation.

“I’d forgotten how much you need it,” Tony said in a tone Steve didn’t understand, but that wasn’t why—

 _You_ , Steve thought, wishing he could explain. The muscles in his legs and buttocks flexed helplessly at Tony’s proximity, embarrassing and no doubt obscene, and he found himself moving his finger away before he realized. He’d never have thought that he’d do something like this without any prompting—but knew that he’d do ten times more if Tony wanted him to. _I just need you_.

“I wouldn’t want it to be said that I don’t care of the needs of my Subs, even during punishment. Stay right there,” Tony said, walking away, and Steve could feel the sound that wanted to escape building in his throat. Tony wasn’t supposed to leave.

What did that mean—he wasn’t—was he coming back?

He had to be; he’d said he’d take care of Steve. 

Except Tony actually hadn’t. Tony had said “Subs,” plural, like Steve was one of many, replaceable and easily forgotten, and while he knew it wasn’t true, knew Tony had only been with one other person as long as he’d been with Steve, it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse.

He’d hurt Tony. Again and again. Had believed Tony capable of … terrible things and left him to suffer the consequences of Hydra’s infiltration on his own and without any warning. How did a person apologize for something like that? How did he fix it?

Steve hid his face against the leather of the ottoman.

Could it even be fixed?

If Tony hadn’t told him to stay in position, he would’ve curled in on himself as the question continued to echo in his head, but Steve had to be good for all the times he hadn’t been in the past. He wouldn’t move from where he was until Tony told him he could. 

“Alright,” Tony said as he walked back into office, and it was all Steve could do not to shudder in relief. “If you’re going to put on a show for me, then it should be a real show,” Tony said, and he placed a relatively thin vibrator they’d used before on the edge of the ottoman in Steve’s line of sight.

Steve wasn’t hard anymore, filled with too many regrets and worries to maintain a state of arousal, but he didn’t care. Tony hadn’t abandoned him. Tony wanted him to put on a show.

It wasn’t Tony touching him, but Steve still grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

Surely Tony wouldn’t have asked if he weren’t at least somewhat interested. Not when he could order Steve to go to his room and take care of himself if it were just because of his body’s needs. The fact that Tony wanted to see—even if he didn’t participate—it had to mean that he still wanted Steve. Even after everything.

It just—it had to.

“Keep your head on the ottoman, don’t touch your cock, and make sure I can see everything you’re doing. Anything else is fair game, but be warned: you can come as many or as few times as you can manage, but if you don’t come like this, then you you don’t come, period. Pick up the vibrator if you understand.”

Understand? Steve understood that Tony was willing to let him orgasm but that he didn’t want to to be easy for him. Steve would have to work for it, which was fine. Good even. The fact that Tony was allowing him to try had to mean something. Didn’t it? 

Unless Tony didn’t think he could do it, in which case it meant something completely different— 

No. No, he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to think like that anymore. 

The point of this wasn’t to orgasm anyway, even if Tony had given him permission. Steve didn’t even want an orgasm. He didn’t deserve one. Especially not if Tony was going without. And yes, it would hurt if he didn’t come, was already starting to ache dully since it was so late in the day and Tony had changed his minimum number of orgasms to two—had changed more than that, but Steve had never told him or thanked him, had never thought to say that Tony made his life better just by being in it—but that was okay. Steve welcomed the pain.

All Steve really wanted was for Tony to watch. To _want_ to watch. So he had to make sure he did something worth watching.

He blinked and swallowed, and it was oddly just as embarrassing reaching for the vibrator as it was to hold himself open, although he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just that it was something new and he’d gotten—not _used_ to putting himself on display—but he’d already committed and had been doing it for a while now. 

Still, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t masturbated in front of Tony before. Of course, it’d always been a way to tease Steve, to make him want Tony all that much more. Steve had never actually come from it in front of Tony, or from ever using a sex toy. The only time he’d ever orgasmed without a hand on his cock had been with Tony. Five days ago. Before everything with Insight had happened.

Steve remembered the way Tony had used to look at him, the warmth in his brown eyes that Steve had taken for granted, and it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to pick up the vibrator.

“Alright then.” Tony put the bottle of lube on the ottoman as well. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Steve paused for just a moment before moving, slicking up his fingers. He went back down on his knees in order to make it easier to reach around himself, and taking a deep breath, he used one hand to hold himself open and then pushed one finger in, his thighs twitching. 

He could do this. He _would_ do it, because Tony wanted him to, and Steve wanted to do whatever Tony wanted. 

Steve had long arms, but the angle made it difficult, so he turned his body slightly and after hesitating for a second, lifted his right leg so his knee was on the ottoman as well, curling into a C. Then he fucked himself slowly, all too conscious of what he was doing but focused more on the silence, on the lack of sounds which hopefully meant Tony’s attention was on him.

The thing was that the more Steve thought about it, he couldn’t imagine that slow and careful was going to be enough. He had to do something that made sure Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

So he didn’t bother with a second finger, just covered the vibrator with lube and rested it against his hole for a second as he took another long breath. Then he pushed in just the tip, wincing slightly as he popped it in and out before eventually turning it on.

It felt … fine, he supposed, moving it around tentatively. It burned, since he hadn’t really stretched himself, and it was nothing like whenever Tony was the one using it on him, but then, Steve wasn’t really aroused, so he supposed that had a lot to do with it. He was almost relieved in a way. He’d been vaguely worried that it’d turn into something about him, about his wants, his needs. But this was going to be all about pleasing Tony.

 _I can be good_ , Steve thought, steeling himself, and then he quickly shoved the vibrator as deep as it could go, swallowing the grunt of pain and making sure to pull his cheek open so Tony could see how much he’d taken. _I can_. He forced himself to relax, to roll his hips obscenely before pulling the toy back out and starting the small pulses again. It hurt a little more the next time he rammed it in, his insides throbbing, but he kept at it, alternating the shallow dips with the deep thrusts, and all too soon, the burn turned into something else. 

He panted against the ottoman, fucking himself hard and fast, no more teasing, everything loud and slick and aching. He’d thought he was safe from arousal, but he’d been wrong, his body thrumming and already shamefully desperate, the vibrations making everything more intense, and no matter how he tried to punish himself with the vibrator, it still felt good. There was just something about knowing Tony was watching—because he had to be, Steve still hadn’t heard any kind of noise behind him that indicated Tony was doing anything else—and even as Steve tried to block out the sensations, he couldn’t block out the awareness of Tony being pleased with him for something.

So Steve continued to muffle his sounds against the leather and to keep his orgasm as far away as possible, and when he thought enough time has passed that Tony might be getting tired of seeing him pounding himself with the vibrator, Steve bit his lip and shoved a finger alongside as well. 

It felt—Steve could barely contain the yell behind his teeth as he hooked his finger underneath the muscle and pulled, opening himself that much further. His head was fuzzy, the vibrator was going to make him shake apart, and Steve thought he might actually be humping the ottoman at that point, but it felt—

Steve had planned to add a second finger, a third, had thought about _more_ even, his whole body feeling like he was going to burn to ash with mortification. He’d thought there wouldn’t be any danger of coming after being stuffed so full, that he’d do it just so Tony could see some of the lengths he’d go to to earn Tony’s forgiveness, but now Steve was starting to think there wouldn’t be a chance that he _wouldn’t_ come, and he—

“You have a call from Major Hill, Mr. Stark,” JARVIS said, and Steve nearly fell off the ottoman as he flinched, yanking the vibrator free out of some insane desire to not be caught by anyone—barely managing to keep his head down before realizing it was just JARVIS.

And then the words themselves registered and Steve froze.

There was the longest pause, and Steve thought he might’ve heard Tony swallowing, but he couldn’t be certain over the thudding in his ears. “Is she?” Tony said, his voice sounding strange. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep SHIELD waiting now, would I? I’ll take it in the lab, JARVIS.”

Steve could hear the creak of his chair, and he wanted to hide the vibrator, wanted to huddle into a ball so Tony wouldn’t notice him with SHIELD on his mind, and then Tony was walking past him. 

“We were interrupted, so you can come as much as you need to.” 

Steve didn’t lift his head, unsure if he had permission yet and knowing he wouldn’t be able to control his expression anyway. Orgasm was the last thing on his mind, no matter how eager his body. He hated the fact that Hill had called, had set back whatever progress he’d made over the course of the day with Tony. Why was Hill calling? What was—?

“Be ready by eight tomorrow morning.”

Steve’s stomach clenched, his thoughts about Hill scattering, and it was all he could do to remain in place. Tomorrow morning? What about the rest of the night? 

He knew Tony wouldn’t be happy after he got off the phone, but Steve was right there. Tony could take his anger out on him. He would’ve gratefully accepted any further punishment Tony wanted to dish out in order to stay beside him. 

“And I want you in your room by midnight. Don’t come out again until JARVIS tells you to.”

Don’t … don’t come out? Was he locking Steve in his room? Or was there a reason that he’d—

The memory of lipstick smudged against Tony’s collar flashed through his mind, making Steve feel cold for the first time since he’d taken off his clothes. 

—that he’d want Steve to not be around.

“Go clean up,” Tony said and then left Steve there as he went to find out what SHIELD wanted.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to sabrecmc for their advice. <3
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter, guys, but I've been busy and will be busy for a while longer, but I didn't want to leave you hanging forever. 
> 
> TW: This chapter really has Steve in a bad headspace, and he agrees to things because he feels like he can't disagree, even though he really doesn't want to. Please be aware and read with caution.
> 
> Also, let me reiterate that I have never been in a bdsm relationship, so please don't take what I write as a good example of what one should be like.

Steve was ready by eight.

He’d been ready a lot earlier than that, truth be told, but by 7:59am, he was standing with his forehead against his door, his hand inches away from the handle. 

Last night had been … bad.

He needed to see Tony. He needed to be _with_ Tony. 

He knew, though, that just because Tony had told him eight, it was no guarantee that he’d actually call for him then, knew that more than likely, Tony would make him wait, just like he had yesterday. What else was he supposed to do, though?

After Tony had gone downstairs, after Steve put everything back where it’d belonged and cleaned himself up and somehow managed to put himself back together, he’d worked for a while on finding Bucky, but it’d been a struggle to gather the shreds of his attention into anything resembling focus. 

Now, however, he couldn’t manage even that much, couldn’t think about anything other than Tony, on what had happened yesterday and the days before it, on what Tony had been doing last night without him. He was ashamed of himself for being wrapped up in his own problems when Bucky was out there, alone. If Steve were better, he’d have found Bucky before Hydra did, or somehow realized that he was still alive, or done more to make him recognize him. But he hadn’t. He’d failed. Just like he’d failed Tony. 

But if he could just get through the next two days of punishment … if he could finally do just one damn thing right when it came to the people who mattered the most—

“Mr. Stark is ready for you now, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS said, and Steve was out the door before he’d finished saying his name.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw Tony: anger or disappointment, or even worse, more of that nothingness that had been so common in the past day. 

He definitely hadn’t expected him to look calm, relaxed almost, a tightness gone from around his eyes and mouth. 

It made a tentative hope begin to grow in Steve’s chest—

Until he wondered _why_ Tony looked so much better. What had changed since yesterday? What had Tony done to be so at ease?

Steve’s eyes fell to Tony’s neck without thought, looking for red, for any signs indicating what Tony might have been doing last night, even though he’d obviously changed since yesterday—and then Steve immediately forced himself to look away. 

Why did he keep doing that? Why couldn’t he just _trust_ Tony? What was wrong with him?

“There’s something I’ve wanted to try with you for a while now,” Tony said, and Steve wished desperately to pay attention, to not think beyond what Tony was saying, but it was so hard. 

“—a light breakfast and then use this,” Tony said, gesturing at a box Steve hadn’t noticed. “We’ll get started as soon as you’re ready.”

Get started with wh—?

His mind went completely blank for a second as he stared down at the enema kit. 

He’d had enemas before as part of medical procedures, but it’d be the first time he’d ever done it because of ... 

He nodded slowly, realizing Tony was waiting for a response. Alright. Okay. He’d make sure to do a thorough job.

\-----

Steve followed Tony, glad he was behind him. He hadn’t quite been able to look Tony in the eyes since he’d gotten out of the bathroom, wasn’t sure how long it’d be before he could without turning bright red all over.

He’d kept the enema in a little longer than the suggested time, wanting to be as clean as possible, and then showered afterwards. He felt empty now. And … off somehow, although he would’ve been hard-pressed to explain why. Not that he wanted to. He was relieved that it was over, though, although it just made him even more nervous as to what to expect. What was he going to do that he needed to be … cleaned out?

They went downstairs to a secluded room off Tony’s main lab. It’d been locked the day Steve had gone down, but the door was currently wide open. Inside was—

“I’d meant for this to be a surprise,” Tony said, patting the—it took Steve a moment to figure out what he was looking at, but once his mind processed that the long, red, _thick_ thing sticking up under the seat was a dildo, he realized it was a fucking machine. 

His mouth went slack.

“Lucky thing too, since I’d kept it locked up in one of the company labs, and SHIELD had their fingers in everything up here.” Tony’s lips twisted slightly, but then he clapped his hands. “But what’s the point in waiting? Take off your clothes. Let’s take this baby for a spin.”

Steve remembered talking about fucking machines with Tony, not the conversation itself exactly but being in the shower with him, his throat a little achy from sucking Tony minutes before, his body still weak with pleasure. He remembered Tony telling him how the machine wouldn’t stop even when he himself was finished, and how flustered and aroused that had made him, how eager. It was a good memory. That whole day was one of his best.

Which was why he felt so shaky now, because Tony was taking something from then and using it as punishment. If Tony hadn’t talked about it like a good thing, like something he’d want to _do_ to Steve instead of something he wanted to happen to him, then it wouldn’t have been so bad. 

They had talked about it, though. And Tony had made Steve want to talk about it more. He didn’t want to lose that. 

But then, what choice had Tony had in what he lost? Steve thought, horribly conscious of the emptiness of Tony’s lab behind him, and he took a shuddering breath and did what he’d been told.

“Sit down,” Tony said, and Steve forced himself to take even steps to the machine. From the side, it looked like a car seat, or a dentist’s chair, but as Steve got closer, he realized that there wasn’t a bottom for him to sit on, more like supports or a cradle that ran from the base of the lower back and thickened into the chair legs with open space in between, through which he could see the dildo beneath. It looked even more intimidating at this distance, and Steve quickly averted his eyes as he got into position. The seat was inclined back with the legs parallel to the floor but bent at the knee, and he had to swing his right leg over, because there were sides along the inside of each leg, although oddly enough, not the outside. 

For as odd as the seat looked, it was surprisingly comfortable, all the parts that touched his skin padded and covered in soft cloth, with the headrest and armrests placed perfectly. Steve would’ve been more grateful if he weren’t so on edge, but it was hard to drum up any appreciation when he felt so exposed. 

“Alright. Let me explain how this thing works. I’m going to strap you in—three times around each leg, three around each arm, and one around each shoulder—but only because I don’t want you to hurt yourself by moving too much. If you safeword, everything stops, although of course, there’s nothing here that you couldn’t break out of by yourself. As I’m sure you noticed, there’s a dildo beneath you. Once I’m finished, I’m going to secure a band around your waist and then stretch you open and put the tip of the dildo inside of you. That won’t come out until we’re finished. It’s attached to the same mechanism that the band is, and wherever you move, the dildo will go with you—assuming you don’t climb out, although I wouldn’t suggest you do that without my help. The band will be _very_ secure and that wouldn’t be … comfortable.”

Steve had the mental image of trying to get away from the fucking machine with the dildo still attached, of the dildo malfunctioning somehow because of it, and he flinched.

“Exactly,” Tony said, wincing slightly, as if he were thinking about it too. “I mean, it won’t,” he said quickly, and as Steve looked up at him, just for a second, one heartbreaking second, it was like the old Tony again, his expression earnest and reassuring. “I’ve programmed it to just shut down if anything unexpected happens. But why risk it?”

All too quickly, however, Tony seemed to remember himself, and Steve hated the way his features closed off.

 _I’m sorry_ , Steve thought helplessly, curling his fingers into fists to keep from reaching out. _Tony, I’m sorry._

“Now this is the fun part,” Tony said, pasting a smile on his face, and Steve looked down at his bare lap, which did nothing to make him feel better. “The machine won’t turn on as long as you keep your legs together.”

It wouldn’t … ? He glanced hesitantly back at Tony. 

“I’ve always liked a little predicament bondage,” Tony said, and he patted one of the sides running along Steve’s inner legs. “The machine is going to exert pressure outward until about here,” he said, putting his hand out to demonstrate, which meant Steve’s legs would be open about 120 degrees at the maximum width. Steve could comfortably do 180 degrees, could do more honestly, but he was relieved it wouldn’t be put to the test. 

“The wider your legs get, the faster and deeper the dildo will go. Up to a certain point, of course. All you have to do if you want to slow things down or need a break is to push your legs closed. Do you understand?”

So it’d be up to him to whether or not he got fucked. It’d be his fault. Steve thought back on holding the ottoman over his head. He didn’t know how long it’d taken his muscles to fatigue, but eventually even the Serum hadn’t been able to save him, and he knew that it’d happen again. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

Yes, he understood.

For Tony, he told himself. He could do it for Tony.

He nodded.

“Good. Now a few more things. First, I want you to wear a blindfold and use earplugs. Don’t worry,” Tony said, as if he knew how Steve’s heart rate had spiked up. “They won’t completely block out your sight and hearing, just reduce them enough to make sure I have your complete attention. Second, JARVIS is going to be monitoring you the entire time.”

What did that mean? Why would—was Tony leaving? 

“Just to make sure you’re doing alright. I’m going to be in the room too but over there,” Tony said, pointing to the side, and Steve hadn’t even noticed the workstation there when they’d entered. He nodded again, looking down, and folded his hands together, squeezing them tightly, trying to tamp down some of the panic that had welled up at the thought that Tony was going to abandon him. 

“The only reason I’d leave would be to use the bathroom, but that’s right down the hall, and I’ll be back immediately. I even put in a mini-fridge, so I have everything I need for the day. That brings us to the next point: your nutritional needs. I’m going to give you water periodically, and every few hours—” hours?—”we’ll stop and feed you a shake. They’re not the most satisfying things ever, but you’re not going to want to eat anything heavy while we’re doing this.”

Hours, Steve thought, and he couldn’t really imagine what that was going to be like, nervousness coursing through him. He had no frame of reference for it but thought it’d probably hurt after a while. Even his body couldn’t handle _hours_ of being fucked constantly, especially with something the size of the dildo underneath him. 

But he could handle pain, could handle a lot of pain, and the only thing that Tony had ever done that had _really_ hurt him was stop seeing him. And Steve had done that to himself.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that Tony was making sure he knew what was going to happen, that Tony had planned everything out and was still taking care of him, even though he was angry. 

The nervousness moved to the background as a surge of loneliness swept through him. He missed Tony— _his_ Tony—so damn much. And if this got him closer to having him back, it’d be worth it. If Tony forgave him, even a little, it’d be worth anything.

“Finally, as for bathroom breaks for you, well, things get a little more complicated.”

Steve was glad he was looking down, because he hadn’t … really thought about it, but of course he’d have to use the bathroom sometime.

“There’s a chance you piss yourself at some point today,” Tony said matter-of-factly, and Steve’s whole body felt hot as he flushed red. “Your body will get confused, and I’m already going to be trying to push you past what you think you can take, and if it happens, I’m not going to stop, although I will clean you up. It’s not a goal, by any means, and assuming you’re able to control yourself, whenever we take a break, I’ll give you the opportunity to piss, but I want you to be aware of the possibility. Also, when I say I’m giving you an opportunity, I don’t mean I unstrap you and you walk to the bathroom. I mean I’ll provide a bottle that I’ll hold the whole time, and I’ll aim your cock for you, and when you’re done, I’ll take the bottle away.” 

What? Tony wanted him to …

He clenched his hands tighter.

Tony expected him to urinate into a bottle as Tony held his penis. Steve didn’t know if he’d ever been this embarrassed in his life, shame sweeping through him, and he had to resist the urge to cringe.

“Now, we’ve talked about watersports before, and it fell into your ‘willing to try but not terribly excited about’ bucket, however, that was a while ago. If you’ve changed your mind and this, hell, if anything I’ve told you about, is a hard ‘no,’ then we’ll do something else. Punishment isn’t an excuse to ignore your limits, and I do have a backup plan ready. I won’t hold it against you.”

Wouldn’t he? 

Yes, Steve was humiliated and anxious and there was a part of him that wanted to take Tony’s offer for a different punishment ... but he couldn’t imagine telling Tony he wouldn’t accept whatever he had in store for him. He might as well walk out the door right now, which was something he adamantly refused to do.

Maybe Tony wouldn’t hold it against him, but Steve would definitely hold it against himself. 

He shook his head and didn’t move from where he was.

“Alright, but if you change your mind, you can always say your safeword.”

Steve wouldn’t. He’d never.

“Do you have any questions? I’ll give you a tablet to write something out.”

Steve shook his head again.

“Well then. Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Guys, just remember that I love Tony. The next chapter will not be as bad as this chapter is leading you to believe.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stressing the dubcon in this chapter. Please stop reading if this is going to upset you.

Tony started with the straps, around the ankles, around the calves, around the thighs. More around the wrists, the forearms, and the biceps, and then from above his shoulders and under his arms. They were wide and stiff, but padded somehow, and Steve managed to keep his breathing even as Tony secured each one.

This was going to happen. He just had to get through it, and then he’d be that much closer to earning Tony’s forgiveness. It was fine. He was fine. Steve believed that.

And then Tony touched him. 

The straps had been impersonal, just material sliding over his skin, hooking into the other side and tightening automatically. Tony had been close as he’d latched them in, but there hadn’t been any contact. For the band around his waist, however, Tony’s hand reached around from him and smoothed it against his stomach, and Steve had wanted Tony to touch him, did want it, didn’t think there’d ever be a time he wouldn’t. 

So he didn’t understand why he flinched the way he did at the pass of Tony’s fingers.

“Steve?” 

Steve stared down at Tony’s hand which was now hovering inches away from him after being yanked away. He hadn’t meant to do that. 

“Are you alright?”

Tony came around to the front, and Steve dragged his gaze up to meet Tony’s, trying to school his features, and nodded jerkily.

“Have you changed your mind? Would you like to stop?”

He shook his head “no” quickly. He was still willing to do whatever Tony wanted him to.

“Are you sure?”

He curled his fingers around the ends of the armrests, gripping tightly, before nodding again.

Tony looked at him for a long time, his eyes moving from Steve’s face to his hands, his shoulders, and then back to his face again, and Steve couldn’t have explained why it was so hard to meet Tony’s gaze, but it took everything he had not to look away.

“Okay,” Tony said, and his mouth quirked at the corner, but it wasn’t happy, more resigned than anything, and Steve didn’t—what had he done? How had he managed to fuck it up all over again—

“No, don’t look like that, no, Steve. I’m not—you’re doing great. You’re not doing anything I don’t want—well, there’s one thing, but that’s my fault.” Tony reached out to cup his cheek, and it made Steve tense, but just until he felt the warmth of Tony’s hand against his face, and then he was melting into the touch. He closed his eyes for a second, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. 

A part of him couldn’t help but focus on the fact that he was doing something wrong again, on why he couldn’t just be good for Tony, just once, just one fucking time. 

But the larger part simply wanted to drown in Tony’s touch, his scent, wanted to soak up every second of contact while he could, because Tony had barely touched him in days, and Steve had missed it more than he’d thought possible.

“Shh,” Tony said, even though Steve hadn’t said anything, _wouldn’t_ say anything until his punishment was over. “It’s okay, Steve,” he said, a note in his voice that made Steve bite down harder to keep back the sound that wanted to slip past as Tony’s thumb glided over his cheek. “I’m going to take care of you,” Tony said, and Steve swallowed convulsively, pressing more firmly against Tony’s hand. He wanted that. So much.

Steve sneaked a glance, and Tony looked … had Tony been that worn down a minute ago? Harsh lines bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were dark and flat. It made Steve dare to turn his head and hesitantly brush his lips against the edge of Tony’s palm, ready to jerk back if Tony didn’t want it.

But Tony just stroked his thumb over Steve’s lips gently instead.

“Close your eyes for me, Steve,” Tony rasped, and Steve immediately complied, his heart racing.

“Thank you,” Tony said, his fingers ghosting down Steve’s cheek before dropping away completely, and Steve missed them fiercely as soon as they were gone. “Keep them closed until I tell you otherwise.”

Steve nodded to show he understood, even as he wished he could see.

There was a long silence, and Steve could feel his anxiety starting to peak again by the time Tony spoke up, his voice rough.

“Alright. Now first things first. The fucking machine is not punishment.”

Steve froze, not allowing himself to move, as if any movement would give him away.

“Not exactly anyway. I know I made it out to be, and of course it’s an aspect of it, but the reason we’re down here is because you’d mentioned you’d like to try it, and I wanted to see you try it, and after yesterday, I thought we could both do with something good for a while.”

Something … good? But then why—? Steve had to struggle against the urge to open his eyes. He didn’t know why Tony had told him to close them, but he desperately wanted to know what expression Tony was wearing at that moment. 

What was he hiding from him?

“Yesterday was more … intense than I’d intended. At least, I assume so. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you thought it was boring, hell, I don’t know,” Tony said, and Steve didn’t mean to duck his chin, but it happened before he was even aware of what he was doing. He heard Tony let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I thought so.” 

Tony’s hand came back then, carding through Steve’s hair, slowly and carefully, and he shivered, tilting his head to make it easier for Tony.

“I … realized … that I’d forgotten. Not that it was your first time being punished by a Dom. But how it felt the first time you were punished by a Dom. Yesterday was a lot harder for you than you let on, wasn’t it?” Tony asked, and Steve could feel the prick of tears at how gentle his voice was.

He kept his face down, but he shook his head in denial. He could handle it— _had_ handled it, and he’d been alright. He’d deserved it after all. He deserved worse.

Tony didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he ran his hand along Steve’s hair over and over again in a barely-there caress that Steve didn’t want to ever stop.

“I decided the punishment would be a little … different today. We were interrupted yesterday, and I thought, I owe him a few orgasms; why not make them special?”

Steve shook his head again, careful not to dislodge Tony’s hand. Tony didn’t owe him anything.

“I included the predicament bondage, so you could keep control, so you could decide when and how the machine moved. You could take a break if you needed to, and I’d be able to monitor the frequency of those and how much force you exerted for each one. It’d let me know when you couldn’t handle it anymore, so we could stop.” 

Stop? It felt like he couldn’t get his brain to work properly, his thoughts sluggish and ungainly.

“But the machine was mostly supposed to be a reward for how well you’ve been doing. For how good you’ve been trying to be for me,” Tony said, his fingers coming down to curl just under Steve’s chin, cradling his jaw. If Tony had exerted pressure for him to lift his head, he would’ve done it … but Steve was unbearably grateful that Tony didn’t as he struggled to hide the pain and the relief that flooded him at his words.

He hadn’t been sure. He’d wondered if Tony recognized how hard he was trying. How much he wanted to make up for doubting Tony. For leaving him alone and being the reason invaders came into Tony’s home. For not loving Tony the way he should.

For _never_ loving him the way he should, Steve thought, feeling sick, and he had to breathe out of his mouth, because he hadn’t once stopped and considered whether the fucking machine was anything other than a way to hurt him. Because he was always willing to believe the worst of Tony, whenever he could.

“I know I presented it as punishment, but I didn’t think _you’d_ think … but of course, you would,” Tony said, his voice getting quieter. “After yesterday and after … I’m sorry,” he said, low and strained, somehow willing to take the blame onto himself, even though it was Steve’s fault. “I wanted to make up for … and I thought you’d want it, that you’d…”

 _Tony_ , Steve thought, his name a mantra as he turned into Tony’s hand, trying to offer what comfort he could, his breath coming out in hitching gasps against Tony’s skin. He could barely make sense of Tony’s words, too lost in his own thoughts, in the latest in his series of betrayals. _Tony._ Why did he have to be this way? 

“But Steve,” Tony whispered, lifting his other hand so they both cradled his face. Steve barely kept from jumping when he felt pressure against his forehead, but he was glad he hadn’t when he realized Tony had lowered his face to his. “You can _tell me_ if you don’t want to do something, even if it’s punishment. You _should_ tell me. It’s what your safeword is for. Do you think I want to do something th-th-that-that _breaks_ you? Do you think I’d ever want that?”

No. No, of course not. He didn’t think that. He—he just— 

He just knew he deserved it. 

He knew he was a bad Sub.

It took everything in him to not let a tear fall, but Steve clawed and scraped at his control, and he managed somehow. He couldn’t stop the shakiness of his breathing, however, no matter how much he grit his teeth or tried to take deep breaths, and there was no hiding it from Tony, when he was that close.

“Shh,” Tony said, which only made it worse. “It’s okay, Steve. Don’t—I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just want you to take care of yourself,” Tony said, and Steve could feel him moving, Tony’s left hand sliding along his cheek, although his right stayed where it was. Steve didn’t know what he intended until Tony was sitting astride his lap, warm and solid, and if that weren’t enough, Tony leaned forward until they were touching from head to thigh, Tony’s arms coming around his neck, and _oh_. Steve hadn’t realized how much he needed Tony on top of him until he gave it to him, and his own arms ached with the urge to be able to hold Tony in return.

“I want you to know that you _can_ ,” Tony whispered against his ear, surrounding Steve and keeping him safe. “That you _should_. Your well-being means more to me than, than trying out a new toy, or whatever plan I had for the night, or any anger I might feel at the time. I’m not—” Tony let out a huff of laughter, but it sounded ragged. “Doms aren’t perfect. We make mistakes, but we have to trust that our Subs will let us know when that happens. It’s not a _failure_ to use your safeword. It just means that I misjudged something and we need to rethink things.”

Steve wanted to believe that, but even thinking about saying it during punishment made his stomach roil. 

“ _I’ve_ said my safeword before,” Tony said after a short silence, and it felt like every muscle in Steve’s body went rigid. “Woah, calm down, Tiger. It wasn’t anything bad. I thought I’d like something that I really, really didn’t. The Dom I was with stopped immediately and nearly fell over himself, apologizing, even though it’d been my idea, and that was that.”

Steve didn’t like the idea of Tony _needing_ to say his safeword, felt … he didn’t know how he felt about Tony being in that situation actually, too many things to make sense of, but he did know he was glad Tony had stopped, that his Dom at the time had respected it, but it wasn’t the same thing. That had been something Tony had been curious about, not … not this.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t during a discipline scene, but the outcome would’ve been the same. My Dom would’ve stopped and would’ve been horrified I’d had to use it.” Tony sighed, ruffling the hairs against Steve’s temple. “Would you like to tell me what made you so upset? I mean, I have an idea, but it’d be better if you could explain, just to be sure. You have my permission to talk.”

Steve shook his head slowly. What could he say? Any explanation just incriminated him more, emphasizing his lack of faith, and how was he supposed to convince Tony he could change when he failed at every turn?

“Steve …” Tony sighed again. “Okay.” His head seemed to rest heavier against Steve for an instant before it lifted away. “Okay.” 

Steve felt Tony move around on top of him and then a sharp tug on the strap around his bicep before it went loose and the material started to slide against his skin.

It took a second for him to understand what was happening, but when he did, Steve pressed back into the chair as he shook his head, again and again. 

Tony was unbinding him. He was going to let him up. 

Tony was giving up on him.

“Steve? Look, I’m just going to undo all of these, and we can—” Steve hunched over the next strap as best as he could, shaking his head wildly. “Hey, nothing’s wrong, alright? This obviously didn’t work out, and we should—will you— _Steve_ —” The machine lurched as he jerked his body to the side to avoid Tony’s questing fingers, and while Steve hadn’t meant for that to happen, it at least made Tony stop trying to release him.

He could sense Tony’s gaze on him, and it took a tremendous amount of strength to lift his chin, needing to convey his determination to stay where he was. He didn’t want to go against Tony’s wishes, felt like a million butterflies were battering against his stomach at the knowledge that he was defying him, but he couldn’t let Tony walk away without even trying to stop him.

There was a long moment where Tony didn’t say or do anything, and then Tony shifted back as he asked, “Do you want me to let you go?” his voice gentle and even, and Steve nearly slumped down in relief at the fact that Tony wasn’t angry.

He shook his head emphatically.

“Alright. I won’t then. Do you want to tell me why? The option is still open for you to talk, so we don’t misunderstand each other again.”

Steve hesitated before shaking his head. He appreciated the offer, but it seemed too much like admitting he couldn’t handle the silence. He wanted the three days to be over. But he wanted to _finish _the three days, wanted to go through Tony’s punishment and come out the other side. _Then_ they would talk, and then Steve could tell Tony all the things he hadn’t been able to tell him so far, how sorry he was, that he regretted everything he’d done, that he loved him. And Tony would know it was the truth because Steve had finally given him proof.__

__“Alright,” Tony said, so quiet that Steve could barely hear him. The sound Tony made as he swallowed was louder. “So you _do_ want me to use the fucking machine on you?” Tony asked, and Steve nodded, slowly at first and then faster, not wanting Tony to think he was uncertain._ _

__The silence was longer this time, long enough that Steve started second-guessing himself, wondering if he’d somehow made another mistake to add to the endless line of them._ _

__“Are you sure—?” Tony asked, before interrupting himself. “What am I saying, of course you are,” he muttered, sounding … resigned almost, but Steve had to have misheard. He wished once again that he could see Tony’s face and knew that it wouldn’t be the last time he thought that before the day was through. “Alright. I’m going to get the earpieces and the blindfold. I’ll be right back.”_ _

__The rush of relief was accompanied by a new set of nerves, distracting enough that it took him a moment to realize Tony was waiting for some acknowledgement, so he nodded jerkily. Then and only then did Tony climb off of him._ _

__It was cold without Tony on top of him, and he felt exposed and unmoored, no matter the fact that he was bound in place. He listened for signs of Tony, feeling better with each step that brought him closer to him._ _

__“I’m going to put these on. If you need to safeword, then please do.” There was an odd quality about the way Tony said it, his tone flat almost, but then something was being pushed into Steve’s ear, and Steve turned his focus to that instead._ _

__“I didn’t want to have to yell in case I needed to tell you something,” Tony said as he fit the second one into place, his voice still perfectly clear through the earpieces. “But I’ll probably have to talk to JARVIS sometimes to adjust things, and I didn’t want that to distract you. I’ll reduce the sound once we get started. Blindfold now. Lift your head, please,” Tony said, and then Steve felt something being pulled over his head. It was a band of fabric, soft, wider in the back than in the front, restrictive but not uncomfortably so._ _

__“That will fall off if you move around too much. If it does, I have a pair of goggles we can use instead, or we can potentially stick with you just keeping your eyes closed, since you’ve done such a good job of it so far. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, if necessary. You can open your eyes now, Steve.”_ _

__There was enough give in the material that Steve could manage it without any problem, but he didn’t like the way his eyelashes brushed against the blindfold each time he blinked, and there wasn’t really a reason to keep his eyes open. Light was coming through, but he couldn’t distinguish anything, and Tony was just a darker shadow against the dim background._ _

__“Are you ready, Steve?” Tony asked after redoing the strap he’d undone, and Steve took one last deep breath before nodding decisively. “Okay, I’m adjusting the volume now. You won’t be able to hear anything after this.”_ _

__He expected Tony to stretch him out. He expected him to get him ready for the machine._ _

__What Tony did, however, was lean over and cup his face with both hands and then kiss him softly._ _

__Tony was kissing him._ _

__Steve went completely still._ _

__He had a moment to absorb the tender press of Tony’s mouth, the way his hair lightly tickled his face, the tiny exhalation of air against his skin, but it was too momentous. Something in his chest shuddered and cracked, threatening to break open under an onslaught of emotion. But Steve knew that after everything that had happened that morning, if he cried, Tony would stop; he knew it down to his bones. So he wouldn’t cry, because he’d do anything to have Tony keep kissing him._ _

__Steve turned his head toward Tony with a sharp inhale, tilting his face and parting his lips, but Tony kept the kisses gentle and undemanding. Steve expected him to move on, knew that this one was the last, or if not, then that one, but Tony seemed in no hurry. He brushed his lips over Steve’s cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, as if Tony wanted to memorize the contours of his face through feel alone, but always returned to his mouth in between._ _

__Two weeks ago, Steve might have become impatient at the pace, not because he didn’t want to be kissed, but because he knew how much more there was to look forward to. At that moment, however, Steve could’ve kissed Tony for hours and still been ready to beg for more._ _

__He felt drunk on Tony’s kisses, even though they were sweet rather than passionate, as if Tony were kissing him just to kiss him, to store up as many kisses as he could. Steve knew it hadn’t been a full week since the night he’d left for his mission, but it felt longer. Like it’d been months since the last time Tony had touched him. Like his whole body cried out for relief that only Tony could provide. Steve felt starved, and each kiss fell into the gaping maw of his need but did nothing to fill it._ _

__When Tony slid his hands down to Steve’s neck, his shoulders, little goosebumps started jumping up all over his body, and he shivered, his breath coming out in a huff. It was hard to focus on all the points of contact, too much and not enough, and Steve distantly realized he was leaning towards Tony, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it._ _

__He honestly didn’t mean to get aroused, didn’t realize he was until Tony pressed a hand against his thigh to still the restless movement of his hips—not that Steve had been aware of doing it. Realization came too late to stop him from jerking into the touch, his stomach and legs tensing as he tried to get closer still, and Steve’s face burned as he forced himself to relax._ _

__It was just that Tony was touching him like he actually wanted to, like Steve was _worth_ touching, and Steve couldn’t help but react._ _

__He heard the murmur of Tony’s voice, the words just on the edge of comprehension, and was distracted enough that he jerked again when Tony began to lightly run his fingertips from Steve’s thigh, his cock flexing once, twice, as Tony travelled all the way up his chest before coming to a rest at the base of his neck._ _

__Steve stopped breathing for a second._ _

__Another maddening murmur, and then Tony was kissing him again, deeper this time, and all Steve could hear was the slick sounds their tongues made interspersed with the quickening drum of his heart._ _

__Surely Tony was going to do something now, Steve thought as one of Tony’s hands buried itself in his hair, while the other began moving downward, inching lower and lower._ _

__And Tony did, tracing the curve of Steve’s pectoral and making him flush hotly before going up to slowly circle his nipple. It still wasn’t enough, though. It was barely anything at all, especially when Tony moved his hand away to stroke at Steve’s side, soothing him, even though Steve didn’t want to be soothed._ _

__If Tony wanted to tease him, then that was his right, but Steve hadn’t orgasmed in days. And while it’d been a manageable but growing thrum of discomfort, the thought of being teased for hours made his stomach sink._ _

__“Would you like me to use my hand to get you off?” Tony asked, his voice coming in through the earbuds, and Steve was nodding frantically before he’d even finished asking._ _

__He heard the beginning of Tony’s soft laugh before the sound was cut off again, and then Tony’s hand was lifting off his side. Waiting was a torture all on its own, but then Tony was stroking his cock, slick and smooth and tight, his thumb rubbing against the head, and it was too much. Steve had planned to take whatever Tony wanted to give him, but he was fucking up into Tony’s fist without meaning to, not that the straps gave him much leeway, but that just made the build up faster, the material digging into his skin, and then Tony _squeezed_ —_ _

__Steve had enough time to think that it wasn’t going to take long, and then he was coming, the pleasure so intense after days of waiting that even to his own ears, he sounded gutted, the moans ripped out of him, his clenched teeth unable to keep them back._ _

__“No, I want to hear you when you come for me,” Tony said, before tilting Steve’s head back so he could kiss him again and making it impossible to keep quiet, swallowing the last of Steve’s cries._ _

__It was almost everything Steve had been wanting for the past few days, Tony’s attention and affection, Tony touching him like he couldn’t get enough, and Steve knew it wasn’t true. Not yet. But he hadn’t been sure he’d get even half this much ever again, and even as he was trying to catch his breath, he had to force himself not to tear off his restraints in order to cling to Tony and beg to never let go._ _

__He had this for right now, however, and he turned his face into Tony’s cheek, grateful when Tony adjusted his position so Steve could burrow his head against Tony’s neck and just breathe in his scent as his heart rate slowed down and his come cooled on his stomach._ _

__After a while, but sooner than he liked, Tony said something, but the sound was muted again, so Steve couldn’t understand, just felt when Tony started moving away from him. He tensed miserably—not because of the fucking machine, or the size of the dildo, or even the threat of urinating into a bottle in front of Tony. They still made him nervous, but after all the time Tony had spent reassuring him, he no longer felt panicked. It was because Tony was going to stop touching him again, was going to stand back and observe from afar, and even though Tony was still there, Steve already missed him._ _

__Tony stilled._ _

__When he began moving again, Steve waited for him to walk away. But Tony kept one hand on Steve’s shoulder and a few seconds later, Steve jumped as he felt a warm wipe cleaning his stomach._ _

__After he finished, Tony started talking, and while Steve still couldn’t understand him, he heard when the tempo of Tony’s words changed, could tell Tony was speaking more and more quickly, until finally he stopped—and when he spoke next, the words were slow and quiet._ _

__What was he saying? Was he talking to Steve? Or to JARVIS? Was he—?_ _

__“Steve,” Tony rasped, and he sounded hoarse, defeated. “I’m going to unstrap you now.”_ _

__Steve made a protesting noise, opening his eyes, but all he saw was black._ _

__“I can’t, Steve,” Tony said, his hand spasming on Steve’s shoulder before he pulled it away. “I thought I could, but … I know I never chose a safeword, because I thought—because I didn’t think, I guess, would be more accurate, but this is me, safewording. I need to stop.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fucking machine just wouldn’t work, guys. I tried and I tried, and I rewrote portions of this chapter multiple times, but it just never felt right. Sorry for the people looking forward to it! I might add it in an epilogue one day instead. Assuming I ever get the end of this fic, and it doesn’t go to a million words, omg. >_> I mean, this feels really close. But I said that about 25K ago too, so...
> 
> Also, it was just my birthday, so please keep the angry comments to a minimum. *cough* Feel free to leave nice comments, however, and all the kudos! On all my fics, really. >_>

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nostalgia AU AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744759) by [blue_jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack)




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